


running up that hill

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Series: little bird [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, F/F, Face Slapping, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Genderswap, Implied Underage, Incest, Love Triangles, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Rule 63, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/F, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just two weeks, Joan keeps telling herself. Two weeks with Sis and Dove Strider. And yet...</p><p>--</p><p>"Chose not to use archive warnings" because Joan and Dove are 16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You weren’t expecting it to be this hot in Texas. You knew it got to be above one hundred degrees sometimes, but that couldn’t have been right… until here you are, stripped down to your bra and underwear while you and Dove play game after game of Go Fish with Bicycle cards that keep getting soggier and soggier with the sweat from your palms.

“It’s too hot for this,” you tell her for about the billionth time, rolling over onto your back and lying spread-eagle under the ceiling fan in her room.

“Don’t whine about it, Joan, that’s the only way you’ll stay cool with this much sweltering sexiness.”

That one makes you laugh, and you grab the pillow that had been cushioning your stomach so you can gently pap Dove’s face with it. “Sweltering sexiness my ass, I feel gross and sweaty and – and – and gross, okay, it’s so hot I can’t think of words.”

“Fine, fine,” Dove says, shoving your pillow back at you before straddling your waist and pressing it against your face as if to suffocate you. The slim weight of her hips presses down into your stomach, and when you dramatically flail her arms to get her to stop, you accidentally catch her in the boob. Well. That. Is a thing. That is happening. Now. Apparently. Um. You feel even more heat rising in your face, but Dove, collected as ever, gets up with her joints popping and opens the door, flinging a merciful but short breeze into your face. “I’m gonna go get some otter pops or someshit, what flavor d’you want?”

“Blue.”

“Blue isn’t a flavor.”

“Is too, numbnuts.”

“Is not, douchebag.” She sticks her tongue out at you – when did she get it pierced? – but before you can fully throw your pillow in her face, she hides behind the doorframe, making your projectile puff impotently against the doorknob before she sprints – flash-steps, really – to the kitchen.

“You gals aren’t fightin’, are ya?” A familiar drawl echoes in the hallway, and for a split-second you realize how undressed you actually are before the door starts to crack open again. “Dove, I told you to stop anta- oh. Hey, Joan.”

The pillow you used to fight with Dove is now hugged firmly to your body. You don’t want Sis seeing all your skin just hanging out there. You’re embarrassed, but she’s all cool and slim and perfect, really. She has less on than you, just a triangle-cup bikini and bottoms that cling to her ass in a print that reminds you of the weird puppets she makes, and she’s holding her shades to her eyes and peering at you from under the brim of her hat. “Hey,” is all you manage to squeak out in return. You’d never be able to look that amazing.

“I was gonna ask if you two wanted to lay out by the pool, but looks like you’re already stripped down to your skivvies.” A brief, inspection-like glance over the rim of her glasses, and then an elegant fingertip pushes them back into place. “Dove!” she shrieks.

Dove’s answer is an otter pop to Sis’s face. “We’re not going, we’re playing cards.” She seems more surly than normal as she comes back into the room with an armful of blue and red popsicles, and she slams the door shut on her sister with a foot before she faceplants onto her own bed. “Why does she always do that,” she grumbles into her mattress.

“Do what?” You still don’t really understand what just happened, but you’re reluctant to let go of your covering, skimpy though it is.

Dove’s voice is muffled through the pillow. “She always butts in whenever I have friends over.”

“Geez.” Your exhale blows your short black hair off of your forehead. “What’s her deal?”

“Her deal. Hah.” Dove doesn’t sound amused, but when she rolls over to face you, it’s not like you can read her face – her damn shades are still on. “Girls. Girls are her deal.”

“Wh – no, I didn’t mean deal like that, I…” What did you mean, then? “She’s…?”

“Gay. She’s a lesbian. A scissor sister. Dildo wrangler. Cunta Kinte. Vag Bedazzler. Munches tacos. Fucks with her fingers. A big fat homose–“

“Okay, okay, Dove, I get it, you can stop now, thanks.” This whole topic’s making you feel more than a little uncomfortable, especially given that this chick just saw you in your underwear. “I feel violated.”

“She probably didn’t mean anything by it.” Dove doesn’t sound so sure, though.

You put the pillow aside, but only so you can hug your knees to your chest. “Does she hit on your friends a lot?”

“Dude, ew,” she says emphatically. “You’re, like, sixteen, and she’s… not.” Does she even know how old her own sister is?

“Yeah, gross,” you agree, otter pop melting out of the plastic to make your mouth and hands all sticky with fluids. “You think you’ll grow up to look like her?”

Dove just smiles that tiny little smile. “Maybe it’s not Sis I have to worry about.”

It takes you a minute to puzzle out her meaning, but once you do, you shriek at her and throw an otter pop in her direction. It explodes in her face, spraying blue ice everywhere, and she gets you back by sliding one in your panties. “You’re such a bitch, you’re awful, I hate you,” and you mean none of that, because you’re laughing and playfully hitting and suddenly you and Dove are rolling around on the floor a mess of tangled sweaty naked teenaged limbs and when it ends this time you’re on top of her with your hands pinning hers to the floor and her thighs cradling your hips and you’re breathing hard and your larger breasts brush against hers with every pant and even though there’s two pairs of glasses separating your eyes you could swear you could see straight through her.

Maybe this trip wasn’t such a good idea.


	2. Chapter 2

Sis is furious with the two of you when she gets back.

The carpet in Dove’s room is sticky, and it’s gonna attract giant bugs unless someone cleans it up, which she says she’s not going to do. You and Dove are left spraying noxious chemicals into the fibers and scrubbing until you feel like your arms have been amputated at the elbow. Dove won’t stop complaining under her breath, but you stay silent the whole time. Even though Sis’s expression hadn’t changed much from its normal countenance, you still feel horrible for having disappointed her. You’re a guest; you’re not supposed to do this in her place.

When Sis invites the two of you out to see a terrible movie and riff it to pieces, Dove is too sullen to come out, preferring to keep doodling in MS Paint and experiment with how low the quality can get before her webcomic is unrecognizable. You’re only too willing to get away from her right now – that earlier bit of contact between you freaked you out, if you can be honest with yourself.

Out in the living room isn’t much better, though. You’re afraid of letting Sis down again, so you stay as quiet as you can, not moving much, not saying much. Occasionally, though, you have to rub your arms to get some feeling back in your hands. “Hard work?” Sis asks you.

You shrug. You don’t want to admit how strenuous it was. At the same time, your mouth has entirely different ideas. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand…”

Sis puts her arm around you and starts rubbing your shoulder. She smells good. Like coconut and chlorine and sunshine. “You didn’t have to help Dove, sweetie. That was her fault. You’re just a guest.” She snorts out a little laugh to herself. “’Sides, I can’t exactly spank you. Too old for that now.”

“That would have hurt less,” you grumble, trying to make yourself small in her hold.

“Egbert, I can bench-press a pony. I can leave your backside black and blue.” Then she ruffles your hair, taking some of the sting out of her words. “You thought I was really gonna do it? Maybe to Dove, but you’re a guest. Your mom will deal with you when you get home, I’m sure.”

You’ve completely forgotten about the movie. The world’s narrowed itself down to the two of you on the couch, the scent of her skin, the tremble that hides itself in your aching fingers. “I feel bad about it right now, though. I’m gonna forget by the time I go home. I shouldn’t have… I just feel bad. I don’t want you to be mad about it.”

Then her voice, soft as silk and smooth as sin, whispers in your ear. “Would you feel better if I just spanked you right now and got it over with?”

At first, whatever you were going to reply with gets caught in the back of your throat as a needy whimper. Something in the pit of your stomach that you don’t quite recognize is clenching so hard it’s almost painful. “I…”

“Don’t tell me you ain’t never been spanked before.” That drawl is too adorable not to answer, but since the words won’t quite come to you, you just shake your head no. “Come on now. Bend over my lap – no, with your hips here,” and when she takes them in your hands to place them where she wants them you feel like you could die. You’re cringing, hiding your head beneath your arms like it’s a nuclear drill, and you’ve never been so scared and turned on at the same time before. “Now. How many of those things d’you think Dove had in the room?”

“I don’t know…” You can barely think right now, let alone remember.

Your ignorance earns you a swat to your left buttcheek. “It’s gonna hurt a lot more than that if you don’t tell me. Just guess. Rough number.”

“I…” You can’t say you don’t know again or she’ll hit you. “Twelve? Twenty?”

“Probably twenty,” Sis agrees with you. “But this is your first time. I’m gonna give you twelve.  You just count ‘em, sweetheart, make sure you don’t lose your place or I’ll give you a few more.”

“O… kay…” You’ve never felt this hesitant in your life. The Hero of Wind has had all the air sucked out of her, and it feels like you can’t breathe. It’s when Sis gets her hands in the waistband of your shorts and tugs down everything you’re wearing on the bottom that you start to panic. “Wait, wait, what are you doing?”

“Skin on skin, babe. That’s how it has to be.” You’re actually trembling now. When she exposes you, the space between your legs feels warm and wet; the air of the room feels icy against it. The palm of her hand rests against one of your cheeks, her fingers cupping the flesh. Her nails bite into the crease where your ass meets your thigh. “You okay? Lemme see your face, girl.”

You stop cringing quite so much, instead resting your head on your forearms. Her other hand runs through your hair – long fingers, cold and perfect, soothing you. “Just do it,” you grumble at her, and you’re tense and you feel so exposed and guilty and awful and turned on and you just want it to stop which means she has to start.

Her hands leave you. “Count,” she says, and her voice gets colder before she strikes you for the first time.

It stings and prickles and there’s heat where her hand landed and you want to sink in through the couch and die or have the wind blow you away and it’s all you can do just to whimper “one” and then she does it again and you say “two” and two more blows in quick succession turn into “three, four, Sis, please,” and why did that come out of your mouth you don’t know if you’re asking her to stop or keep going or let it linger but the infinitesimal break of rhythm between strikes makes you want to cry out of embarrassment and pain and arousal and you don’t know what your body is doing but the pain goes deeper as she keeps spanking you and it isn’t long before “five, six, seven, eight, nine, oh, God, ten, eleven, please, please,” and her hand hovers above you heavy and ponderous and you look up and you can’t read her face, her pursed lips and her eyes hidden behind her shades, and you’re actually crying now, “please, Sis, just do it, please, Sis,” and when the last blow hits you dissolve into sobs and it’s all you can do to choke out “twelve” and then it’s over, it’s over, she’s rubbing the place where she hit you raw and it makes the pain soak in and you’re so humiliated and embarrassed and you still don’t feel like you’ve atoned.

“You did good,” she’s telling you, and pulling your shorts up, and you feel like you’ve soaked through them already, and she brings you up and hugs you and pets at your hair and says other soothing things that you can’t process. You just want to leave and the movie isn’t even half over.

You make excuses about needing to use the restroom and book it out of the room, and the second the door’s locked behind you your hand is inside your panties and it takes you all of thirty seconds to frantically tweak your clit and make yourself come.

Dove asks what your problem is. You lie and tell her the movie sucked, but the way she whips her head around to look at you means she couldn’t have missed the flush that’s still lingering under the bottom rim of your glasses.


	3. Chapter 3

You wake up in the middle of the night to a raised voice in the next room.

That’s Sis’s room. You can barely see in the dark, and you don’t have your glasses on, but you feel alone, and once another voice joins the first, you know Dove’s arguing with her over something. The walls are thin, but not thin enough to let you hear what’s being said.

What you do hear, though, disturbs you. Dove’s… crying? Laughing in a sick way? Angry or hurt or upset, but she’s worked up in a way you’ve never seen her before. A thud echoes through the wall right next to your ears, and you shiver, afraid that you’ve been caught listening in, but no, the conversation continues much as before, more muffled and sometimes more wet and you wish you knew what was going on in that room because your mind is doing terrible things to you and you don’t want to think these things but it won’t stop.

Rolling over, you clutch your pillow to the side of your head and try to deafen yourself to the struggle going on in the other room.


	4. Chapter 4

The second time you wake in the night, you’re alone once again.

The window is open. There’s a slight breeze – not enough to mitigate the heat, though. It’s stifling and oppressive and your sheets are clinging to your legs and there’s no air moving and you can’t breathe. It would be bearable if Dove were here, you know. You would be able to watch her sleep, take in air and exhale it rhythmically, trace the flutter of her pale, pale eyelashes as she dreams. What does she dream about? Does she dream of cold air and mountain pines? Does she dream of hands on her? Does she dream of girls?

It’s too hot in here, and the seconds tick past, clockwork gears sticking in the humidity. This is Dove’s element, not yours. And you know, right now, that she’s making time for herself. And you know, right now, where she has to be. And you know, or at least you think you know, why.

You forego the bra and slip some shorts on instead, jamming your glasses on your face as you go, but once you reach the roof, Dove is just in that oversized shirt she wore to bed. Her legs are thin and pale where they stretch out against the dark surface of the roof; it’s strange to see her feet out of Chucks, but they’re oddly pretty, slim little things with curling toes and the way she articulates through the ankles makes you think about her flexibility. (Do you envy her? Do you want to be her? Or do you just want her?) Her head is leaning back against the ledge separating solidity from freefall, her hands splayed at her sides as if to absorb the coolness of the cement into her bones.

She knows you’re here, even though you’re trying to be quiet. “You brought the wind with you,” she murmurs, and you didn’t even realize that it was stirring around you until she pointed it out. You wish it would settle, but sometimes, these things are out of your control. When the gust brushes against her shirt, you can see her nipples in stark outline against cotton.

At the sound of her voice, you hesitate. Maybe you should just go back to bed. “Can you make some time for me?” you ask, and you hate your voice for its timidity.

“Always,” is her effortless answer. She doesn’t move, but you know the intent is for you to sit next to her. You assume the same pose she has, legs stretching out in front of you, your one hand resting near the base of Dove’s spine as hers brushes against your backside. Her other hand is tapping out a rhythm now, fingertips tracing out 17/4 time, and you wonder how the staccato feels against skin.

When you lean your head back, you notice she’s still wearing her shades. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” and when she says it that quickly and pointedly, she makes you feel like shit for asking. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” At least you can agree on that much. Your own breeze ruffles your hair. When the wind moves like this, you just want to sway with it or blow away somewhere. Anywhere. Dove makes you feel restless. Like you’re on the precipice – but of what? Right now you’re where roof meets sky, but there’s something else here, some other edge to the situation. “Derse dreams?”

She shivers. You’ve made it too cold, but you like watching her skin when it prickles up. Unconsciously, she leans closer and puts her head on your shoulder, and you feel like your stomach leaps up and your heart drops and something in your chest gets awfully tight for such a slight weight on you. “Jude wants to visit,” she whispers.

“Oh.” You lay your head on top of hers. This is what friends do for each other… right? “Well… that’ll be a good thing. Right?”

“Awkward thing.” A pause, and then more. “Part of me remembers that we spent years together, you and me and him… but it doesn’t right, it feels like someone else’s memories and I’m just stealing them.”

Dovesprite. “Jude’s really nice, though. He’s so positive all the time, I think it’d be good for you.”

“What are you trying to say.” Her tone is icy; the temperature around you drops further, and she brings her knees up, making herself smaller.

“Nothing! I wasn’t trying to say anything.” But you were. Oh, you were. “Why, what are you trying to say?”

“Jude told me he has a crush on me.”

You smile. “Just like Karket’s chart.”

“Fuck Karket’s chart.” The poison in Dove’s tone is unprecedented. “Fuck the chart and fuck the arrows and fuck the ectoshit.”

“So I take it you don’t like him like that.”

Dove sighs. Her breath is hot and foggy against your wind. She shifts closer to you, bringing up the hand that had been behind your back to put it on your hip and pull herself closer. You have full contact at your sides, and it’s electrifying. Hesitantly, you return the favor. You can feel the outline of Dove’s panties through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt. “We’re friends, right?”

“ _Best_  friends, douchebag,” you correct her.

“I want to like him.” A little sound, like a hiccup or a laugh, comes out of her mouth. “Fuck knows I want to like him. I just… don’t. I mean, how do you feel about Ross?”

“I don’t know.” It’s hard for you to think about. At one point, you were good friends with him. Then he was your server player, the only one who had his shit together to coordinate your session, and then there was Karket’s chart that screwed everything up. For a long time, you were convinced that you had to marry him. It would have been okay, because you were friends, but then other things happened. Like him coming out to all of you and that relationship he has with Kanaye. It still doesn’t stop you from thinking about the possibilities. “He’s happy,” you settle on, whistling through your front teeth. “I wish he’d talk to me more, but… I don’t know, Dove. I just don’t know.” Because, if you can be honest, it was kind of cool. That you would marry one of your friends like that, have someone guaranteed by your side. And even though you never really liked him like that, it would have been fun, you know. “It doesn’t really matter,” you mutter. “I never really thought anything was going to happen.”

“Then Jude’s gonna be okay.” Dove’s face is unreadable.

That’s a non-sequitur if you’ve ever heard one. “What are you talking about?”

“I just…” Dove turns to you even more, hiding her face in your shoulder, leaning her legs over so they’re touching yours. It’s like she’s trying to crawl into your lap, seeking shelter. From what? “I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t do it.”

“You don’t have to like him if you don’t want to –”

“It’s not just him,” Dove cuts you off forcefully. “It’s Aradio. And Fefiro. And Nepete and Kanaye and Teruzo and Vrozki. Even Ross. Fuck…”

Déjà vu sets in. You don’t know exactly where she’s going with this, but you feel like you’ve had this conversation before. The realization is on the tip of your tongue. Dove brings around her other arm to hug you around the waist, and you know she just wants comfort, but how… You move your other hand, but it only gets as far as her knee before you start patting her awkwardly. You pet along her thigh to try and smooth out her speech. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Dove, it’s okay. You’re allowed not to like people like that. Even if they want you to like them. It’s okay.”

“But then there’s Tavras.” Oh. “And Luxxis. And Karket. And Gamzea. And I can’t… we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, we’re friends, I already told you –”

“And it’s you.” The wind is practically howling around you now; Dove almost has to yell to make herself heard. You can smell her hair when she’s laying like this, and she smells like Twizzlers and cherry and softness despite her harsh angles and you just want to breathe her in and keep her safe from the turbulence of her life. “It’s you, I can’t help it, Joan, if I could help it, I don’t wanna…”

“Wait.” Your understanding lightbulb has a dimmer switch, not a simple off-on, and it’s finally crept up to maximum luminosity. “Are you trying to tell me –”

“And I know, trust me, I know, you’ve said it over and over, ‘I am not a homosexual,’ whatever, it’s like you said, you’re allowed not to like people even if they want you to like them, I don’t expect you to –”

“Dove, slow down, wait, go back –”

“We’re friends, right? Say it, say –”

“ _Best_  friends, best friends for  _years_ , you’re my  _best friend_ , Dove –”

She moves her head off of your shoulder, the rims of your glasses clack together, and then she’s kissing you.

Something in you lights up from your pelvic floor to the roof of your skull. Even though her lips look thin, they feel good against yours. You relax, and you open your mouth, and when your tongue comes out to taste you get cherry Chapstick and something even sweeter. When her tongue touches yours, your fingertips involuntarily dig into her – she’s so thin it feels like her bones might cut you. Time slows to a standstill, and the vortex howls around you.

Then she pulls away, and the clock restarts, and the night is calm again.

“Oh.” It’s all you can think to say. It makes you sound stupid. “Dove, I –”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve, it’s not –”

“Take off your shades.”

Dove’s eyebrows fly up into her hairline like two crows trying to take off. “What?”

“I said, take off your shades.”

“You take off your glasses.”

“I’m not taking off my glasses until you take off your shades!”

“Bitch, you get your hands off of my face –”

You struggle for a few moments, playfully swatting at one another, and yet the touches ignite something within you, something that flows like water and burns like magma, and eventually you pull off her shades and she pulls off her glasses and they get set aside as your faces meet again.

It feels good, you decide. It’s just best friends. Best friends practice kissing with one another, right? Except this doesn’t feel like practice. This feels like the real thing. Her hand caresses your side, and your palm slides up her thigh, and you’re leaning into this more than you ought, and you’re a little more enthusiastic than is proper. She moves her leg, and for a minute you think you’re going to snap back to reality and have to face what you’ve done, but no, she’s still kissing you and she’s moving so she can straddle your lap and you bring up your knees a little so she can rest against your thighs and she’s touching your face, she’s touching your face while she kisses you and her crotch is practically bumping up against yours and under that one layer of cotton she has nothing on underneath and something feels like it’s going to come loose inside of you, a slow throb that only intensifies the more your tongues touch.

Eventually, it ends, as all moments do. When Dove pulls back, her lips are plump, swollen, glossy, red. You did that, you realize, you and your teeth. But she doesn’t complain. She doesn’t say anything, really. She just stares down at you, eyes wide, and in the moonlight they’re silver-grey and cut through your defenses. Her hair is baby-fine when you run your hands through it. When she runs her fingers along your scalp, you feel it tingling everywhere.

The moon hides behind a cloud. Dove’s eyes are shaded to you again. She grabs her shades from  next to you, gets off of you, and flees, sprinting for the stairs so fast that you have to wonder whether or not she’s flash-stepping. Damn it, you don’t even know where your glasses are. After a little fumbling, you find them with your fingertips and jam them back on. One of the lenses is a little scratched, creating a miniature prism out of the light. You touch your still-tingling lips. Your legs won’t move.

That was your first kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

You hate her. You hate her you hate her you hate her you hate her you hate her –

Except, you don’t really hate her. You hate the things she does, but you could never really, truly hate her. She’s your sister. She’s the one who brought you up. She’s the one responsible for you, and you know she loves you, and you love her too.

But you hate her. Really. You really hate her.

Once you’re sure Joan is asleep, you leave your bed, flash-step to the door, and try not to make noise. Sis is much better at it than you are, but you’re getting there. You’ll get there. Barging into your sister’s room, on the other hand, is a loud, dramatic affair. She’s hunched over her desk, the only light in the room emanating from her monitor, editing puppet snuff gorn for her freaky fetish porn website or whatever the hell it is that she does in here in the dark. To let her know you’re here, you flick on every light in the room. Before Sis can even burst out with a “what the hell?” as she takes her headphones off, you talk over her, your voice a savage whisper – Joan’s just on the other side of that wall, after all. “What happened?”

Sis is all innocence. “What do you mean, what happened?”

Okay, no more messing around. You flash-step over to her and fist your hand in the buttons of her polo, yanking on it so she has to look you in the eye – through two pairs of shades, but in the eye. “What. Happened.”

“Oh, you mean what happened.” She takes off her shades. It’s not a good sign. It either means she’s about to get way too TMI with you, or you are in big fucking trouble. Given the way she gets two fingers around your wrist, not letting you move your hand away from her, it’s more likely the latter. Her golden eyes are fierce and fiery, but you don’t know what’s fueling her.

And now all the words have fallen out of your head and you don’t know what you came in here to accuse her of. She’s disarming. You hate her. (You don’t really hate her.) “Joan came back while you were still watching the movie. And she looked…” There’s no good name for that expression. “Humiliated. What the fuck did you do to her?”

“What did I do to her?” She sounds incredulous; her perfect, slim eyebrows arch up towards her hairline, and a little smirk plays around the corners of her mouth. “Why am I always the bad guy?”

“Because you are!” you throw back in her face. “You are! You’re always lurking around my friends and making little remarks and hitting on them and do you know, do you even fucking know how many times they come up to me and say ‘oh your sister’s hot’ or ‘man why aren’t you more like her’ –”

“So that’s what this is about,” Sis whispers.

“No! No, that’s not what this is about!” You lost your train of thought. You do that a lot. Usually it ends up with you babbling nonsense at open chat windows, but this is your sister, and you had a point in coming here, and you’ll get to it eventually. “You did something to her. I want to know. I deserve to know. She’s my guest, and if you did anything to her, I’ll –”

“You’ll what?” You hate that face. (You don’t really hate her.) That little simpering expression just makes you want to punch her. “You’ll spank me? That’s not how this works, little bird.”

Oh, now you know you’re really in for it. “Just tell me what you did!” Your voice cracks, and you feel a heat rising in your chest. Some things never fade away, and your knighthood must be one of those things, because you feel so protective of her, she’s yours, your guest, your friend, and you will personally shit a slippery marlin if Sis did anything irreparable to her.

“You really wanna know? Huh? You think you can handle it?” She is just fucking relentless. “She said she felt bad for making a mess in your room. I offered to punish her so she wouldn’t feel so guilty.” And, just in case you don’t connect the dots on your own, she draws the conclusion for you. “I spanked her, little dove. Pulled down her pants and grabbed that ass and slapped it red.”

“Why?” It comes out as less of a word and more of a sob. “Why, Sis?”

“Oh, I get it. Your feelings are hurt.” Her grip around your wrist gets more insistent; you know she can feel the struggle of your pulse under her fingertips. “You wanted that to be you. You wanted to be the one to dominate her. Humiliate her. See her cunt get slick and swollen for you. Put your fingers in her and make her squeal –”

“Shut up!” you say, as loudly as you dare. You’re so emotional right now that you don’t have control over your voice. “Shut up shut up shut up –”

“Or maybe,” Sis murmurs under your protests, “maybe it’s not like that at all. Maybe you wanted to be the one slung across my lap. Maybe you wanted to be the one to atone for your indiscretions. Maybe you wanted to beg me for more or beg me to stop. Because let’s face it, little bird.”

She fists the front of your shirt the same as you did to her, and with her momentum, she pushes herself out of her chair and forces you back up against the wall. You land there with a soft thud, praying that Joan doesn’t hear. Sis is taller than you, bigger in almost every respect – muscular instead of scrawny, lithe instead of little – and she seems to tower over you now, her golden eyes captivating you. If you had anything you wanted to say, it’s fallen out of your head.

“You were wondering when I was gonna come in and spank you,” she’s murmuring right in your ear. Her hips are oddly close to yours. As she speaks to you, you can smell coconut clinging to her collarbones, feel her thigh splitting your legs. “You were wondering when I was gonna touch you like that.”

“Shut up,” you won’t stop muttering, “shut up shut up shut up –”

“Look at you, little bird,” she won’t stop muttering, “squawking and twittering in my little cage. You sing so beautifully.” She runs her fingers down the sides of your face – and yanks off your shades, revealing that there have been tears clinging to your eyelashes for the past few minutes, tears of shame and fear and – “Or maybe you’re not a little bird. Maybe you’re a puppet. Maybe you’re my little marionette. How’d you like that, doll?”

“Shut up shut up shut up –”

“I know exactly what strings to pull. Or maybe you’re a sock puppet. I wonder what happens if I put my hand in you…”

You’re trembling when she slowly, eversoslowly, draws her hand down your front. That weight presses the thin cotton of your sleep shirt into your chest, outlining your nipples – they’re already hard – and skims against your stomach, the flat plane, goes past your hips to your thighs and dips underneath your shirt – oh, fuck, you’re trembling, spreading for her hand, and she grinds her palm into the crotch of your panties and dampness seeps out and she peels them aside and coos just a little and “shut up shut up shut up” even though she isn’t even talking you have to say it.

“Look at you.” She’s whispering so low in your ear that you might be imagining it. “So desperate. You did it on purpose, didn’t you. You wanted me to notice you. Notice you, not your friend.” She pets along your folds and you shiver and your eyes roll back in your head. “You wanted it to be you. You wanted me to smack your ass until it was raw. You wanted me to massage out the hurt and fuck you with my fingers, hm?”

She works a long, slim finger into you and you sigh out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your arms betray you, coming up from your sides to wrap themselves around her shoulders so you can dig your nails into her skin and draw blood. You hate her. (You don’t really hate her.) She leans closer, nuzzling her cheek against yours, and you struggle to keep yourself quiet – Joan is right there, what if she hears, what if she knows – and you can’t quite keep down these moans, you don’t want to keep down these moans, Sis knows what she’s doing and she won’t stop talking and you feel filled and then she adds another and she thrusts so smoothly and you feel stretched around her and your entire snatch is drooling onto her and she gets her other hand behind your knee and encourages you to wrap your leg around her waist and you tip against her and hump her fingers and she laughs in your ear, laughs at you, laughs in victory.

“My little dove,” she won’t stop saying, “my little doll,” and you can’t tell whether she’s proud of you or punishing you, you’re almost too far gone to care, you just want her to keep fucking you, keep pleasuring you, and oh my fucking christ you’re almost there, you’re almost there, and she brings her thumbprint up to cover your clit and rub up against it and you nearly bite through your own tongue to keep yourself from making a noise because it’s so good, so good what she’s doing to you, and when she whispers “come for me” you don’t want to let her down and you’re so scared and you’re so turned on and you can’t help it and you choke down everything you’re feeling and you gush onto her fingers and you clench down around her and you don’t want it to end.

She hugs you and strokes your back and pets your hair with the hand smeared by your cunt and you start crying, just a little, just enough, and she coos at you and shushes you like a mama bird and you want to wither into yourself and die. As soon as you get your legs back under you, you edge out from under her, not even remembering to flash-step to the door and walking there like you’re drunk instead. Those same drunken steps take you up the stairs to the roof and you still don’t feel any better with distance between the two of you.

Time dilates out into forever, and then you have an exchange with Joan and embarrass yourself once again and flee the scene and wish you could sink into the earth or be spontaneously teleported to Mars or just, for once in your life, be normal. Not the gay teen hot for her sister and her best friend. The straight girl who still thinks boys have cooties and wears a promise ring to remind herself not to have sex. Especially with girls. Especially with her own sister.

You hate yourself. (You really do hate yourself.)


	6. Chapter 6

What the hell happened that you’re waking up on the roof?

And why does your mouth taste like Dove?

You rub your eyes and make your way back to the Strider apartment in time to catch Sis and Dove at breakfast. They’re both wearing pretty much nothing but baggy shirts and panties; you try to avert your eyes when you pass the kitchen table and start searching the cabinets for cereal, climbing up on the counter to root around above the refrigerator. Still, the image of their underwear is burned behind your retina. Sis has a white smuppet on the front of her orange briefs, and Dove’s bikini is pink with a fringe of red lace. And it wasn’t hard to see their nipples through their shirts, either.

You’re trying so hard to forget about what you just saw that you end up tipping the cereal box out of the cupboard, spilling Happy Bran everywhere.

Oh, God, and now you spilled something else, and the memory of the punishment for your last indiscretion floods back and leaves you paralyzed and flushing. Is Sis gonna spank you again for this? (You’re not sure what you want the answer to be.) Dove’s got her hands on your hips, trying to get you off of the counter without hurting yourself, and you want her to stop touching her and never stop at the same time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you keep saying, but Sis already has out a dustpan and broom and she’s flash-stepping around to clean up your mess. “I’m – I’m just – I don’t think – I’m not hungry any more, I’m just gonna…” Trying to save face, you turn and bolt for Dove’s room.

You only stop in there for long enough to grab your phone; then you lock yourself in the bathroom and call your mom. While it’s ringing, you start worrying at a hangnail on your thumb, biting it while panicked thoughts keep running through your head. “Joan, honey, is that you?”

“Mom, thank God, oh my God,” you sigh in relief. Your hands are shaking.

Of course, this triggers Mom Mode. “Are you all right, Joanie? Cissy told me she’d be taking good care of you.”

“Cissy?” Not important. “Mom, I don’t know what I’m doing here, I think I made a mistake.”

“Oh, Joanie.” You can almost feel her pulling you close and patting at your hair to reassure you. “Tell me all about it.”

“Tell me you won’t hate me first.”

“Why would I hate you? I love you, honey, I just want you to be okay. Did something happen?”

You can’t hold it in any longer. “We kissed.” Not she kissed you, not you kissed her.

“Who kissed?”

“Me and Dove. She was up on the roof, and she was so upset that Jude was going to visit her because she came out to me, Mom, she’s a le – les – and she told me she liked me and she kissed me and then we took off our glasses and I kissed her and…” You have to stop to push up the bottom of your glasses and wipe the blurriness out of your eyes. “I spilled something in Dove’s room yesterday and I felt really bad about it and Sis spanked me for it, I’m sorry, Mom, I should have waited until I got home so you could do something…”

“Joan. Joan, honey, it’s okay, listen to me.” You sniffle a little, run the back of your hand across your nose, and try not to really cry. “You’ve been friends with Dove for years.”

“Best friends,” you correct her.

“Best friends,” your mom echoes you. “And you like her, right?”

“Yeah…” You don’t know where she’s going with this.

“Sometimes people who like each other kiss each other.” When she says it like that, it sounds so simple. “How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt out. “I don’t know, Mom, I’m not – I don’t think – I didn’t think I was… gay or anything, but that was my first kiss, she kissed me, and it kind of… felt good? I don’t know…”

“But it felt good.”

“Mom, you’re making this too simple.”

“That’s because it is that simple, Joanie.”

“What about Sis?”

“You said she spanked you.”

“Yeah.” You start biting your hangnails again. “Pulled my pants down and gave me twelve spanks and then…”

Your mom is too perceptive for your own good. “Then…?”

“I can’t tell you, Mom, it’s embarrassing.”

“It’s okay, honey.” And when she says it like that, you actually do believe that it might be okay. “You can’t help what your body does.”

“I, uh.” There’s more. You don’t want to tell her, but she’s your mom, and if anyone can help you, it’s her. “She’s… really pretty, y’know? And I…”

“She’s a lot older than you are.”

“Yeah, but she’s younger than you. I… I don’t know, Mom. Am I…?” You can’t even say it, you’re so embarrassed.

“Don’t focus on the big picture right now, honey. It’s about people. Individual people. You like who you like, and you can’t guilt yourself or make yourself feel bad about it.” You can hear her sigh on the other end. “If I could hug you right now, I would. Go ask for one from Cissy, all right?”

You nod, even though your mom can’t see you. “Okay.”

“I love you, Joanie.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

After you hang up, you just sort of stare at your phone. You still feel shaky, and you don’t want to leave just yet. Idly, you thumb through your text messages. You’re tempted to call Ross, too, but he’s probably not up this early – and besides, this is his ectosister you’re talking about. Mostly you and him text about silly stuff, but once you scroll a few months back, you find a message you’d forgotten about.

 **BOSS ROSS:** TG: i should probably text her soon  
TG: see whats up  
TG: because  
TG: i love her  
TT: I know.  
 **BOSS ROSS:** I just found this in my pesterlog history and thought you deserved to know.

You really should have seen this coming.

The second you get out of the bathroom, Dove is waiting for you, hopping from foot to foot with her legs crossed. Fine. If she wants to hide, it’s all hers. You’re looking for Sis anyway. She’s still in the kitchen, and she’s sitting like a man, knees splayed apart so you can see up her shirt oh God those are her panties again. “Hey… Sis?” you try timidly.

She looks up from doing something on her phone – by the noise, Angry Birds – and that quirked eyebrow over her shades is gonna tear you apart. “Sup, sweetie?”

“Um…” What was it your mom told you to do? “Can I have a hug?”

“Sure, babe, c’mere.” She sets aside her phone, and you walk toward her, and she takes you in her arms, and this is the best hug you’ve ever had in your life. And she smells good, and her skin is soft, and she’s so warm, and you feel good here, and it’s bad that you feel good, right? Right? “Dove told me y’all kissed last night.”

“What?” Yes, because a shriek is so sexy that it will get her to make sweet, sweet love to you – wait, what? “She told you?”

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay.” She just keeps you close and rubs your back and somehow when she says it you believe it. “I’m not mad at you. Not mad at her, either. You kissed. Teenagers kiss. It’s okay, babe.”

Your face is muffled in the sleeve of her sleep shirt. You can feel her nipples through two layers of cotton against your chest. “I’m not gay,” you mumble.

“What was that, darlin’?”

“I’m not gay.” It’s only a little louder, still muffled in her shoulder. “I’m not – I’m not gay. I’m not a homosexual.”

“Shh, sweetie, I don’t care. Dove doesn’t care.”

“She should care, she said she liked me, did she tell you that too? Did she tell you she’s liked me from the beginning? Since we were twelve, Sis!”

“If you break her,” Sis says, low and sweet, “I will break you.”

It sends a chill down your spine, and you’re afraid and you’re turned on by how vicious she can be and you really want to kiss her but you just kissed her little sister last night and you have no idea how you feel. “I’m sorry,” is all you whisper back. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to break her.”

Her voice softens a little. “I know, hon. You’re a good kid. You’ll be all right.”

“My first kiss,” you say, still not letting go. “That was my first kiss.”

Sis laughs a little, but it’s not mocking. “Was she any good?”

“I don’t know.” Through your tears, you giggle a little. “I have no goddamn idea.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Fuck it.” Sis draws back, and when she does, she… takes off her shades? She’s taking off her shades. And when she looks up at you, her eyes are liquid gold and they’re so beautiful and you feel like you’re going to drown. “Let’s see how she did.”

She kisses you and you forget how to breathe.


	7. Chapter 7

Dazed and confused, you can’t stop touching your lips.

They tingle with all the memories you should never have been given. Kissing two people in the same day? You feel like a slut. Kissing two girls in the same day? You feel like a pervert. Kissing two sisters in the same day? You feel like a criminal.

You’d call your mom again, but you just called her, and you don’t want her to know about this. That’s wrong. It’s so wrong you almost can’t articulate it. You need someone articulate. You need someone who understands psychology – especially Strider psychology.

You need to talk to Ross.

Once again, you’re firmly attached to your phone, except this time, you’re texting Ross, fingers tapping across the keys in a quick volley through your Pesterchum client.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 10:14 - -

EB: ross.   
EB: ross, i need to talk to you.   
EB: please be there.   
EB: earth to ross.   
EB: alternia to ross.   
EB: beforan to ross.   
TT: Yes, Joan, what is it?   
EB: oh thank god.   
TT: I hope you realize that this is a late hour for me.   
EB: oh. oh, gosh.   
EB: i forgot about the nocturnal thing you and kanaye do.   
EB: i didn't mean to wake you!   
TT: It must be urgent.   
TT: There would be no other reason to message me so many times.   
EB: yes. yes, i need to talk to you.   
EB: right now.   
EB: so i'm staying with the striders right now.   
TT: How is my ectosister?   
EB: uh.   
EB: something weird is going on here.   
TT: Just because the concept is foreign to you doesn't mean it's unnatural or strange.   
EB: i need advice.   
TT: I'll add a five-cent charge to your tab.   
TT: You owe me around $30 by now.   
TT: You do realize that, right?   
EB: shut up, i'll pay you more than that if you just listen and tell me what's happening.   
EB: ...   
EB: are you still there?   
TT: You told me to shut up, so I shut up.   
EB: but you're listening?   
TT: Of course, Joan.   
TT: I always feel privileged to hear any account of the inner workings of the Strider mind.   
EB: dove kissed me last night.   
TT: Congratulations.   
TT: This was your first kiss, correct?   
TT: I assume you would have told us if you'd been kissed before now.   
EB: shut up, ross.   
EB: she kissed me.   
EB: and then i kissed her back.   
TT: Once again, congratulations.   
TT: Or is this the point where I dazzle you with my psychoanalysis?   
EB: don't do this to me right now, ross.   
TT: Dove is homosexual.   
TT: She's been attracted to you for a long time.   
EB: i know, i found your text from a few months ago.   
EB: it gets worse.   
EB: her sister is crazy.   
TT: So is my father.   
TT: All guardians are. Or, I should say, Guardians.   
TT: Even Jude's space-panther is strange.   
EB: this goes beyond just run of the mill messed up.   
EB: sis spanked me yesterday.   
TT: I assume I'm to offer congratulations for this as well.   
EB: shut up!   
EB: it was humiliating!   
TT: In the usual sense, or was it sexually humiliating as well?   
EB: i hate you.   
TT: Of course you do.   
EB: that was before dove kissed me.   
EB: and between those two i woke up in the middle of the night and sis and dove were fighting in the next room.   
TT: Describe the fight for me.   
EB: i don't know, dove just sounded really upset.   
EB: and then i think sis pushed her into the wall.   
EB: sis just kept talking and dove sounded like she was whimpering.   
EB: after a while i fell back asleep.   
EB: then i found dove up on the roof and that's when she kissed me.   
TT: I'm glad you're telling me this, Joan.   
TT: I've been asking Dove about her relationship with her sister for years and made no significant progress.   
EB: i don't get it.   
EB: i'm not even done with my story yet!   
TT: I'm sorry. Please continue.   
EB: i, uh...   
EB: i called my mom, and she said to ask sis for a hug.   
EB: so i did, and sis said she knew about everything, and then...   
EB: ross, please don't tell anyone this.   
TT: I assume something bad happened.   
EB: she kissed me.   
EB: sis kissed me.   
EB: i kissed two people in 24 hours.   
EB: two girls.   
EB: that are sisters.   
TT: This is an astounding moment of clarity for me.   
EB: what? what's going on?   
TT: I think it's best for you to work through these things on your own.   
EB: this isn't helping, ross!   
TT: Other than these events, your stay with the Striders has been largely uneventful, yes?   
EB: well, yeah...   
TT: I'm going to contact Dove and ask her a few questions.   
TT: In the meantime, I'm sure everything will work out.   
EB: is that seer of light stuff?   
TT: Call it intuition.   
TT: Until next time.

\- - tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 10:32 - -

“Everything’s going to be fine,” you whisper to the walls. “I’m going to be okay. Okay. Things are going to be okay.”

You feel kind of gross, though – and not from everything that’s been going on, but simply because you haven’t showered yet today. Houston heat and humidity means you already feel sticky, and you need to get in the shower. Pronto. It’s easy enough to dig through your travel bag for new panties and a new bra.

Shucking down to the bare minimum undergarments, you wrap yourself in a towel and rap on the bathroom door. “Dove?” you call. The Striders sure do love their showers; you know Dove’s said she can spend up to a half-hour in here. This, though, has been more like an hour, and you’re starting to get worried for her. “Dove, are you okay?” Just to make sure she didn’t pass out or anything, you crack the door open and peer through the gap.

Dove is still in the shower, all right. You can see her, even through the humidity fogging your glasses and the glass shower door. She’s whimpering, and it looks like she has her arms crossed over herself for modesty, covering her bits. You guess you’d be embarrassed if she walked in on you showering, too. But then, after a second, you realize – that’s not all that’s going on here. You can still see her nipple through her splayed fingers, and she’s rolling it and pinching it until the bud is peaked and red. And the hand between her legs…

You can’t stop looking. You shouldn’t be looking and you can’t stop looking. At first, you only see the blur of her hand. Then you realize her fingertips are right on her clit. That’s how you make yourself come. She’s getting off. She’s masturbating in the shower. Your mouth goes dry and you’re paralyzed. You can’t stop looking and you shouldn’t be looking.

She makes a little plaintive cry, somewhere between ‘yes’ and ‘please’, and she relents to her own begging when she curls in on herself that slightest bit and slides her hand further between her legs and you can’t see exactly how her fingers are articulated and you want to see the exact moment but based on the whine coming out of her throat she just – she just put her fingers inside herself. Oh, God, if your panties hadn’t already been ruined, they’re now officially drenched.

Little echoing moans are reverberating in the acoustics of the bathroom as Dove grasps her breast, hard, and humps against her own hand. “Fuck,” you can hear her say quietly, “fuck, fuck, fuck…” Her litany is breathy and high, and she crumples in on herself, knees starting to give out as she continues to pleasure herself. In a matter of seconds, she’s on her knees on the bathroom floor, curling up as far as she needs to in order to keep fucking herself on her fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, right there, right there, oh, fuck, Joan,” and you can’t quite process what she’s saying because of how sexy her voice is and how arousing this sight is. She works at herself frantically, almost crying in frustration, and you imagine she’s been at this for almost twenty minutes, desperately trying to purge herself of the feelings that led to last night, and it’s still not working and you can tell she hates herself for all of it because when she finally comes it’s with a hitch of breath that’s not unlike a sob as the water from the shower runs down her face and cleans her even as she makes herself filthier than ever.

Your fingers are wrapped around the door handle, white-knuckled. You let go, pulling the door shut as quietly as you can, and slink back to the room to wait for her once she gets back. In a few minutes, she saunters in, cool as ever, wearing her shades and a towel and not much else. Oh, God, underneath there she’s naked, and you’ve never wished for a towel slip more in your life. “Shower’s free,” she says nonchalantly.

She didn’t see. She really didn’t see you watch her do that. You sigh in relief, a breath you didn’t realize you had sucked in, and try to act as breezy as her. “If you left me any hot water.”

“Maybe it’s only hot when I’m in it.”

Already with the innuendos. You hate the Striders for doing that – you feel like there’s an inside joke you’re constantly missing out on. “Oh, Ross messaged you,” you mention offhandedly before you leave.

Dove shakes out her hair and cusses loudly. “Mother of fuck, what now.”

You escape before you have to explain anything to her. The shower doesn’t make you feel clean, either; you know what you did, what you saw, what she did, everything that happened in the last day that turned your world upside-down and made you start questioning your own identity.

Your ablution ends the same way as Dove’s, and you don’t even feel relieved afterwards. The tension in this tiny apartment is going to kill you. Maybe you should just go home before it escalates.


	8. Chapter 8

You barely bother to get dressed after your shower. There’s hardly a point. It’s still so hot that you and Joan will end up in your underwear anyway. You’re not particularly ashamed of being naked – after a lifetime of sexual terrorism from Sis, you’re used to pretty much anything the female form has to offer, and you’re not just indiscriminately attracted to tits and ass. Still, you want to look… pretty? Not-boyish? Feminine? This is somewhat unlike you, and you don’t know how to feel about your sudden desire to own traditional lingerie. You compromise with a black bra and matching panties, squashing the voice in your head that tells you “only girls who want to get laid wear black panties.”

Besides, you have a much more pressing problem. Your iPhone won’t stop flashing with the alert that Ross messaged you on Pesterchum. This is exactly what you didn’t want to be dealing with this week. He doesn’t know anything. You’re comfortable with him not knowing anything. It’s none of his business, anyway. But you have to respond. You have to at least act casual about the whole thing. Replacing your shades on your face, you set your expression to default-ironic and, sitting Indian-style on your bed, you hunch over and text Ross like your thumbs are going to fall off.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:47 --

TT: Dove, I need to talk with you.   
TT: I want to know how Joan's visit is going.   
TG: why   
TT: Call it sibling affection.   
TT: How are you?   
TG: fine   
TG: as fine as a fine thing in a fine country on a fine planet   
TG: as fine as the choicest ass in the world   
TG: which is mine and it is fine   
TG: looking up fine on google reroutes you to dove strider   
TG: im nine hundred percent fine   
TT: I see.   
TG: now leave me alone   
TT: Jude told me he intended to visit you soon.   
TG: fuck harley in the fingernails with the rusty prongs of a rake   
TT: I take it you're not enthused about it.   
TG: why cant he just leave well enough alone   
TG: he keeps asking me to come visit him   
TG: like i wanna be alone on his island with him   
TG: not with this skin id look like a lobster   
TG: id have to put on sunscreen before i left and id still burn before i went outside   
TT: And what if he were to visit you in Houston?   
TG: boy can handle heat but not this kinda heat   
TG: houstons so hot it takes strider cool to survive   
TG: he is a gentle flower just like the ones in his greenhouse   
TG: he would wilt here   
TG: plus my sister   
TT: What about your sister?   
TG: you should see what shes like around joan   
TG: shes like a crow   
TG: a very angry crow   
TG: she keeps pecking and pecking and pecking at egbert   
TG: and eventually egberts just gonna roll over and let her keep pecking   
TG: and then sis is gonna eat her alive   
TG: itll be gruesome   
TG: blood everywhere   
TG: ill have to call the cops and shit   
TG: dont wanna have to do that   
TT: I doubt you intended the metaphor to be that literal.   
TT: She's been harassing Joan?   
TG: thats one way to put it   
TG: another way to put it is that shes hitting on egbert   
TG: another way to put it is that egbert is letting sis hit on her   
TG: yet another way to put it is that egberts encouraging sis to harass her   
TT: But there's been some level of flirtatious contact.   
TG: she spanked egbert yesterday   
TT: Whatever for?   
TG: somehow i get the feeling youve already heard this story   
TT: Oblige my curiosity.   
TG: we were roughhousing in my room when we got otter pops everywhere   
TG: i stuck one in her underpants   
TG: long story   
TG: sis made us clean up and i got pissed   
TG: she invited egbert to watch a movie with her   
TG: then she spanked her   
TG: and egbert came in looking violated   
TT: Violated?   
TG: something was wrong lets just put it that way   
TT: And what did you do about it?   
TG: i waited until egbert was asleep   
TG: went to my sisters room   
TG: confronted her   
TT: What happened?   
TG: nothing   
TG: nothing happened   
TG: why does something always have to be happening with you   
TT: Joan confided in me that she overheard your argument with Sis.   
TT: She was concerned that Sis was hurting you.   
TG: not really   
TG: kinda but not really   
TG: whats it to you anyway   
TT: Your relationship with your Guardian has always been turbulent and unconventional.   
TT: I was merely wondering if she then elected to punish you the same way she punished Joan.   
TG: she didnt punish egbert   
TG: you shoulda seen the look on her face   
TG: didnt punish me either   
TT: Then what happened?   
TG: she tipped her hand   
TG: started shuffling around in places she didnt belong   
TG: treated me like her personal sock puppet   
TG: and won with a royal flush   
TT: Your metaphors, as always, are enlightening, Dove.   
TG: the fuck is that supposed to mean   
TT: I assume she engaged in some form of flirtation with you, then fingered you to orgasm.   
TG: you assumed that from what i gave you   
TT: Naturally.   
TG: i hate her   
TG: i hate you too   
TT: Of course you do.   
TT: I feel that now is an appropriate time to bring up the discussion we had on Derse years ago.   
TG: oh fuck no not that one   
TT: Yes, that one.   
TG: that was a one time thing   
TG: it wasnt supposed to carry over outside of sburb   
TT: And yet it has.   
TT: It still applies.   
TG: how   
TG: this chick raised me   
TG: shes seen me in diapers   
TG: shitty pissed in diapers   
TG: she taught me how to walk   
TG: how to scratch   
TG: how to strife   
TG: shes not like you   
TG: youre my age and youre my friend   
TG: shes my sister   
TG: shes family   
TT: Ectobiology means that technically, we are all family.   
TG: shut up lalonde   
TG: no one likes it when you use logic   
TT: Because that means I'm right, Dove.   
TT: Even if our extenuating circumstances were not the case, it isn't my place to judge.   
TT: Your sister has always seemed to prefer a very hands-on relationship.   
TG: that doesnt mean its right   
TT: Do you enjoy yourself?   
TG: how does that have anything to do with this   
TT: Outside of the stigma, do you enjoy the time you spend with her?   
TG: i hate her   
TT: You don't really hate her.   
TG: i know   
TG: i just hate myself for trying to hate her   
TG: shes just so overwhelming   
TG: i never know whats coming next   
TG: im always on my toes trying to anticipate her next move   
TG: but its never what i think its gonna be   
TG: during a strife if she pins me to the ground she could just leave me there   
TG: or she could straddle my waist and breathe on my face   
TG: egbert shouldnt be here   
TG: sis is gonna hurt her   
TT: Literally or figuratively?   
TG: theyre not gonna strife or anything   
TG: but egberts been sucked into the strider vortex   
TT: And what about you?   
TG: what about me   
TT: You told me you thought this visit would be hard because of your feelings for Joan.   
TG: well   
TG: its been hard   
TG: especially since i fucked up   
TT: How so?   
TG: last night after sis and i   
TG: i went up on the roof   
TG: egbert found me up there and i kissed her   
TG: planted one right on her face   
TG: and as if that wasnt bad enough   
TG: she kissed me right back   
TG: like she thought it aint no thang   
TG: she took my shades off and everything   
TG: i cant get over it   
TT: How did she react?   
TG: no idea   
TG: she slept on the roof and weve barely been in the same room since   
TG: shes real twitchy around sis though   
TG: i will beat my own sister into a bloody pulp if she does anything to her   
TT: I have a feeling this is about more than just your hero class.   
TG: egberts mine   
TG: my friend   
TG: not hers   
TG: not her anything   
TT: So you feel like you're in competition with your sister over Joan's attention.   
TG: im getting to the point where im gonna lock the princess in a tower and protect her from the big bad dragon   
TG: that dragon could roast her alive   
TG: i dont even care if that dragons between me and her   
TG: i will kill it stone dead if it gets in my way   
TT: Instead of the dragon getting in your way, why don't you harness its power to help you achieve your goal?   
TG: wait what   
TG: lalonde you cant do that   
TT: Can't do what?   
TG: take my own metaphor and confuse me with it   
TT: I'm insinuating that you and Sis might be able to team up and get Joan to bend to your will.   
TG: how do you know shes going to bend   
TT: Call it Seer of Light powers.   
TT: I'm sorry, but I need to leave.   
TT: It's very late for me, and even the nocturnal feel the need to sleep.   
TG: aw shit i forgot   
TG: since were getting personal today can i ask you something   
TT: Anything.   
TG: when you and maryam fuck do you get all tentacle freaky on his ass   
TT: Good night, Dove.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 11:19 --

Wait, since when has Joan been in the room drying her hair in front of you? You just want to offer to do it for her, but that would be inappropriate. She has the same idea as you about the lingerie, apparently, since that’s all she was wearing yesterday, but with her, it actually makes a difference. Objectively speaking, she has a choice rack, and you could bounce quarters off of that ass. What’s worse is that she’s still relatively slim. She wielded a hammer for years, of course she has massive amounts of girlgrit.

When you think about her that way, she reminds you entirely too much of your own sister. But now you’re daydreaming about the feel of her muscular stomach under your fingers, tracing the taut line of her triceps with your hands as she hovers her weight over you – “damn it, Dove, I can’t get this, can you help me?”

She can’t fasten her bra. You feel paralyzed. “Sure,” comes out of your mouth, but this is the least sure you’ve ever been in your life. Setting aside your phone, you get up behind her and take the ends of her bra in your hands, looking at the hook-and-loop closure like you’ve never seen it before in your life. Really, you’re just pausing between on and off to admire the curve of her spine – and to think about which direction you want to go. Instead of doing anything perverted, though, you act like the chivalrous knight you are and ask her, “which hooks?”

“The middle ones.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her skin smells like soap and water, and the scent of fruit clings to her hair.

Slowly, deliberately, you close her bra for her, and you pray she can’t feel it when you let your fingertips linger on her back. “There.” The touch is chaste, but the intent is not. To cover for it, you snap a bra strap while you take your hands back.

“Okay, ow!” she cries out, whipping around to grab for your bra and do the same to you. A chase around the room ensues, and by the end the two of you are beating the shit out of each other with your pillows. It could be worse, you remind yourself. You could be actually roughhousing, hands all over each other, one body hanging over the other as eye contact is made and the spark travels along your skin to end in a fizzle at your brain and your crotch.

Really, you’re just too chickenshit to make another move.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m bored.”

Oh, shit. It’s the dreaded Dove Strider I’m-bored statement. When Dove Strider is bored, things that previously seemed like utterly terrible ideas suddenly seem like an excellent way to spend an afternoon. At least when you get bored, the most you resort to is silly pranks. With Dove, there are inventions and contraptions and sometimes the neighbors call upstairs to tell her to cut it out.

This is not gonna be good.

You can at least try to deter her from doing something terminally stupid for a few minutes with idle chatter, right? “Why are you bored, Dove?”

“There’s nothing to do.”

“That’s not true, we’ve been playing cards for two days straight and you haven’t complained once.” To be fair, the cards are also limp and soggy; when you try to shuffle them, they just kind of fleh into one giant ball of paper mush. Too soft, not crisp enough, and Dove won’t think to play with another deck.

“I’m sick of playing cards.” Dove’s on her back on her mattress, but where it’s pushed up against the wall, her legs are vertical in the shape of a V. You suppose she’s trying to get air, but really? Right to her crotch? “Let’s play something else.”

Oh, no. Oh, goddammit. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. “No, I think – I was okay with cards, cards was fine, I think we should stick with that.”

“Truth, kiss, or fold.” The hell is that? “It’s like truth or dare, but instead of dares, it’s a dare to kiss the other person.” Kiss her, she means. “And if you won’t fess up, and if you won’t kiss, then you lose, and I pretty much get to publicly humiliate you.”

“Which means you’re going to blog about me or put me in your shitty webcomic.”

Dove reaches up to draw her shades down her nose just so she can look over the rims at you. Okay, you’re a sucker for that look, and she knows that. “Watch your mouth, Egbert, or you’re gonna be fallin’ down some stairs.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll play your shitty game.” You keep messing with the cards, though. You’ve learned some neat tricks over the years as part of your pranking set – plus you don’t want her to see how your hands are shaking at the prospect of kissing her again. Not because you want to, you remind yourself. “Uhh…”

“No, wait, wait, I didn’t say you got to go first.”

“Nuh-uh, you can’t just propose the game and then get first turn. Besides,” and you bat your eyelashes at her a little, “I’m a guest.”

“You wanna bet?” She’s sprightly, for a skinny person. She twists in on herself like a cat and lunges with her legs away from the wall, launching herself towards you, and for a second you have just enough notice to realize that a very energetic Strider is coming your way before Dove’s momentum bowls you over and the two of you are rolling all over the floor of her room and pretending to hit at each other and then you’re on top of her and this seems so wrong somehow but not in the sense that she should be on top of you because neither of you should be on top of anyone but because you shouldn’t be in this position.

“I, uh.” You prop yourself up and push yourself away from her. “I win. Now you gotta spill.”

“Fine, fine. Have at. You don’t have the huevos to ask me anything really raunchy, anyway, so I’m gonna win.” Dove sits up once you sit back, rubbing at her knobby elbows where little patches of rugburn are already starting to bloom.

“Uhhhhh.” She’s right – you have nothing. “Who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Lindsay Lohan.” Dove says it so fast it’s like she didn’t even have to think about it. “Yours?”

“Tom Felton.” You’re already going red in the face – and you’re out of questions. “Uh.”

Dove snaps her fingers at you repeatedly. “Come on, Egbert, I ain’t got all day.” For a moment, her drawl reminds you of her sister.

You blink and the resemblance dissipates. “Which troll skeeved you out the most?”

“Alpha or beta?”

“Ah-ah, you can’t ask questions in response to questions, ha!” It’s nice, for a change, to win at Dove’s games.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “I owe you.” She licks her lips, and for a minute you watch the glare on her shades pass across the lenses before you realize she’s leaning in towards you and her mouth is on yours with a featherlight touch for a fraction of a second and it wasn’t enough, it won’t ever be enough. “Equusi. You?”

“Erdina.” She’d been racist, sexist, and you don’t even know what else, and she’d frightened you more than a little. “Uh.” You’d ask about her first kiss, her first boyfriend, but you feel like you already know the answers. “How old were you when you first…” Your sentence trails off.

“When I first…?” Dove goads you.

You could punch her in the face. “When you first, like.” This is so embarrassing. You don’t like this game any more, but it’s mostly because you don’t have the balls to follow through. “Knew you were into… girls, I guess.”

Dove shrugs. Her face is stoic. “I kinda always knew, I guess. I mean, with Sis and all…” There’s something she’s leaving unsaid, and it gapes in the silence like an open wound, but you’re not about to prod her where she’s sore unless it’s to put her back together. When she snaps her attention back to her and away from her ellipsis, you know you’re in for some major shit. “Egbert, you don’t have any ovaries, I swear to Christ. I know what you were gonna ask,” she accuses, pointing her finger right at you. You want to grab it and break it. “How old were you when you first started gettin’ yourself to your happy place?”

Oh, fuck her, fuck her so hard, fuck her so hard she doesn’t remember English. “Ohhhh, Jesus. Uh.” She’s staring at you, expecting an answer, and if you don’t tell her, you have to kiss her, and at this point, you don’t know which one’s more exposing, which one leaves you more vulnerable. “Fourteen?”

“Wow, Joan. Wow.” It’s true – Dove does look shocked. Her eyebrows are doing that thing where they try to escape off of her face and into her hair. “And you’re not shitting me on this?”

“Why would I bullshit you on this? We’ve been best friends for ages, you know when I’m lying, now shut up and tell me yours, don’t think I won’t turn this around on you, young lady.”

“Four.” To your unsaid exclamation of shock and alarm, she explains, “Not like I knew what I was doing, I was just doing it.”

“Wait, so how old were you when you first –”

“Ah! Gotcha! My turn!”

“I’m gonna fucking hit you in the face with this pillow, Dove.”

“What do you think about when you do it?”

You don’t even have to think about it. You’re not telling her anything you get yourself off to. It’s too much, even for best friends, and you’d rather kiss her than tell her. You’d rather die than tell her, and that’s what kissing her feels like. It feels like your stomach drops out and everything tastes like cherries and smells like soap and your heart leaps up and jostles your brain out of the way which falls right back to where your stomach was supposed to be and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, all you can breathe is her. She’s your air. She’s your breath. When you draw back, your lips are tingling and your brain refuses to work, but you make it charge full speed ahead anyway. “What about you?”

Of course she’s not going to answer your question when you didn’t, but she ups the ante with the kissing. Instead of just staying on her little side, she leans into it, cupping your face with a hand and moving her mouth against yours as your lips touch. This is a little more than chaste by now. After a while, both of you seem to forget to pull away, like fucking magnets, and you have no idea how she thinks this is supposed to work. “Uh,” she says, sounding not unlike you in your moments of prime articulation. “Anyone else ever get you there?”

“No!” If she asks about your first kiss, you swear to God you are going to spontaneously combust and there will be nothing of you left but ashes. RIP Joan Egbert, we buried her raw, she was quick on the trigger but slow on the draw. “You?”

“Yeah – I swear to God, Egbert, it’s like you’re gunning to replace St. Agnes or someshit.” Even though you can’t properly see Dove’s eyes, you know she’s rolling them at you. “Have you even been kissed?”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “What have we just been doing,” you say to her sarcastically. “Who was it?”

To your surprise, Dove practically smashes herself to you, kissing you like her life depends on it. Your mouth opens; her tongue snakes inside. This is almost like last night, and you can taste her inside your mouth, and she’s outlining your buck teeth, your stupid buck teeth, and she tastes so good, and you move your tongue against hers and try to remember how to breathe and you might be running your hands through her hair a little bit but it’s only fair because she’s doing the same to you. When she draws back, her lips are glossy and swollen. You did that. Wow. All because she didn’t want to tell you who got her to come. “When was your first?”

Ohhhhhhshit. Okay, Egbert, you can do this. You still need to catch your breath, try to disentangle yourself from Dove even though you don’t really want to stop, and it’s not gonna hurt anything if you just say it. Right? “Last night.”

“Oh you dear sweet chaste soul, bless your heart,” Dove coos at you, and you actually grab a pillow and sock her straight in the face for that one. “Ow!”

“You deserved it,” you tell her, giggling. Great. Now you have to think of a question that’s just risqué enough for her to answer, but not dirty enough that she’ll want to kiss you instead. “So, like. If you were gonna be with a guy, just the one guy, just the one time, who would it be?”

“I’ve been with a guy,” she says. She says it like it’s nothing, and yet it’s everything to you. She’s so much more experienced. So much cooler. For being such a dork about some things, she’s really a coolkid at heart, and you’re never going to measure up. You’re jealous, and there’s something curling underneath that black feeling that reminds you of desire – not just of what she’s done or what she has, but who she is – and it scares you, more than just a little. “You ever fantasize about you and Ross?”

Oh, fuck, you are not answering that, and you lean in to kiss her in apology and penance. But just before you can lean over far enough, the door to Dove’s room opens and Sis barges in. Once again, she’s just as naked as the two of you, except somehow, she looks like she has more clothes on – if by ‘more clothes’ you mean her bra’s a sports bra instead of a lacy number and she has on hot pants instead of a bikini. “Girls, I got a volleyball and there’s some sand – what’s going on in here.”

The way her voice ices over makes your gut twist in on itself. You’re going to get punished again, aren’t you? “She started it,” you squeak, and you’re sure your face is as red as Dove’s text by now.

“Oh, bullshit, I’m not taking the fall of this all by myself, Egbert,” Dove blurts out, crossing her arms and giving you the shaded stinkeye.

“Sis, this isn’t what it looks like,” you start out with, picking yourself up off the floor so you can stand up to Sis. If you can at least get to the same height…

But she’s not putting up with this from either of you, it seems. “You,” she says, her finger aiming right at your forehead. “Sit. Stay.” Like a puppy, you obey her, immediately setting your ass down on the corner of the mattress. It’s better than getting whacked with a newspaper – or being bent over her knee and spanked again. “You,” she barks out again, pointing to Dove, “with me. Now.”

You can tell Dove’s still trying to be defiant. There’s an aura around her, a shimmer of an endless grudge that you can almost see. All the same, you see her shoulders sink that one millimeter, and you hear it in her voice when she gives up and rolls over and plays dead. “Okay.” She seems so small.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you’re not sure who you’re apologizing to, Sis or Dove, but something went horribly, horribly wrong and you want to make it right somehow and you can’t, you just can’t, that moment is irrevocably fractured and you can’t put it back together again. This was supposed to be funny and cute and suddenly it’s not and you just want to shove everything back into place the way it was and it just won’t go.

You’ve never seen quite this look on Dove’s face before. She looks utterly defeated as she lets Sis clamp a claw around her wrist and drag her out of the room. When you reach out, she reflexively reaches back, and your fingers brush together for maybe a nanosecond before she’s gone and the door closes in her wake.

Oh.

Well.

You fucked up, Egbert.


	10. Chapter 10

You feel like Sis is trying to yank your arm out of your socket.

She just wants to tear you apart. You’ve never seen her this infuriated. The second she drags you to her room, she slams the door behind her, then audibly locks it. “What the fuck was that,” she growls.

“I…” You hate this. She makes you speechless, just because she makes the words fall out of your head. “We were just…”

“Kissing. Kissing! Under my roof!” Sis is practically spitting in your face. Just so you can’t look away, she grabs your shoulder as well as your wrist, pinning you in place. “Do you know how much trouble you’re going to get me in?”

“Trouble? How the fuck is a stupid teenage sleepover game gonna get you in fucking trouble?” You’re so mellifluous right now that your voice cracks in the middle of your shriek.

Sis’s nostrils flare. A dangerous gleam crosses her sharpened shades. “I answer to that girl’s mother for anything that happens under this roof. I know what Mama Egbert is capable of. You know how strong I am?” You nod fervently, hoping she won’t actually show you how strong by hitting you. “She can beat me to a pulp. Has done. Not like I wasn’t asking for it, not like I didn’t want it, but that’s not the point. She is fearsome. And if Joan gets hurt? It’s me who’s paying the price. Not Joan. Not you. Me.”

“I’ll take it,” you blurt out. “I’ll take the heat for it.”

“You can’t handle this much heat,” Sis hisses at you. “I know you think Joan’s gonna be your little girlfriend or whatever, but none of it is happening while she stays here.”

“I kissed her!” you finally say. You have to take a stand, and it has to happen now. “I’ve been waiting for that moment since I found out we all got to have a life afterwards. And you’re just gonna fuckin’ interrupt like – like you own the place or something,” which she does, “and tell me I can’t do what I’ve wanted to do for three years?”

“You are not to touch her, do you understand me?” She jostles you so hard to drive her point home that your shades fall off your face.

“No, I won’t! You can’t just tell me to stay away just because you spanked her. I kissed her! My mouth was on her mouth! There were two mouths there! One of them was mine and one of them was hers and it wasn’t just last night, she kissed me today, too!”

“And let me tell you,” Sis talks over you, “you are a piss-poor kisser.”

“And you can’t – wait, what the fuck?”

“That’s right,” she purrs at you. “I kissed her, too. She’s eager, I’ll give you that much, but she kisses like a virgin. Your technique is shit.”

You slap her across the face.

Once your hand is ringing with the sting of the impact, you actually process what you just did. Sis’s shades went flying to the corner of the room; a red welt is rising on her cheek. You can see the fury simmering under her skin. “You wanna play, little bird? Let’s fucking play.”

She slaps you right back, and you realize you didn’t even hit her like you meant it. You don’t hate her like you should. Sis, though, she loathes you. It’s that special kind of loving loathing, that abrasive sort of affection you’ve learned to expect from her. You collapse under the force of her impact, and tears rise to your eyes. You’re already cringing.

“There. That’s better. Down where you should be. I know you like her, little bird. But you don’t love her like you need to love her.” From this angle, she looks a thousand feet tall. “You can’t love her. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“Oh, and you do?” And of course you would have the huevos to backsass her while you’re on your knees in front of her.

She actually sneers down at you. “I’m the one who knows what she’s doing. I’m the one who’s gonna catch the shit if she squeals.”

“I got there first!” It’s your only defense. “She’s my age – you just started noticing her when she stayed here, it’s not fair, I’ve loved her since I met her, since I first started talking to her, you can’t do this!”

Sis lets out an exaggerated sigh that blows through her anime bangs. “I’ve been trying to teach you, little bird, but you still have so far to go.”

You just blankly stare up at her for a few seconds. “Teach me?”

“What else did you think that was for?” She leers down at you, and you can feel her gaze rake over your nearly-naked form. “Everything I do, I do for you. And you just won’t learn.”

“I didn’t know…” When you put your hand to your cheek, you can feel it bruising under the coolness of your palm. “What the fuck do I have to do to make you happy?” you say quietly. “What the fuck is it gonna take to prove it to you that I don’t need you or your help or your advice or your fucking – fuck lessons or whatever the fuck this is…”

“You need me,” she whispers. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me. You wouldn’t know how to kiss her or how to touch her or how to finger her or how to lick her.”

“I do know!” you insist. You hate your sister for being able to push every button of yours. You can keep it under control, even around Joan, but Sis? No way.

“Oh, excuse me.” She does that head-bob thing where she’s being sarcastic as hell. “If you know everything, Miss Smarty-Pants, why don’t you fucking show me? Show me how you’d fuck her. ‘Cause I’m going to bet you, right now, that you don’t have what it takes.”

“I am gonna fuckin’ – I’ll do it, I’ll go there, I will bet you – next shot, I’ll do it, I’m gonna win this shit, I’m gonna win big,” and it’s all talk, it’s all just words, isn’t it? She’ll back down soon and you won’t have to follow through, right?

Right?

Sis starts snapping the waistband of her hot pants. “It ain’t gonna fuck itself, sugartits.”

At least it’s not ‘little bird’. “You can go fuck yourself,” you grumble. To pull yourself up, you grab onto Sis’s hand, and you use your momentum to kiss her, full on the mouth. You… as much as you’ve done with her, you’ve never really kissed her. You don’t want to kiss her like she’s Joan, like you love her like you love Joan, but it’s a pop quiz, isn’t it? So you at least have to try. You hesitantly open your mouth, trying to set off her lolita-alert sirens, and you can feel the little hitch in her breathing when you gently touch your tongue to hers.

Then she pulls back. “Huh,” she says, looking down at you with unreadable golden eyes. “Not bad, not bad. Joan didn’t show me how you –”

She needs to shut up. Instead of just muttering it while she works you up out of control, you put your mouth back on hers and kiss her even harder. You and her have the same tells when you’re getting into it, and you know you’re starting to get to her. God, and she tastes good too, and it’s just fun to kiss in general, and you know her so well, and this is so wrong and that must be why you’re turned on so much. And you’re tingling from head to toe, and you run your hands through her hair, and it’s so soft and so fragrant and you massage her scalp and the little breath she takes in through her nose is priceless.

Why can’t she just take the lead? You’re so unsure and you can’t pretend this is Joan because this is Sis, this is your sister, and she’s so different and you just want to impress her so you’re terrified and turned on at the same time. Your hands come up to palm at her breasts, but they’re flattened down to her chest by her bra. Obstacle. This needs to come off. “You really gonna go there, babycakes?”

“Come on,” you mutter, “come on come on,” and you wrench your hands under her sports bra and pull it up and yank it forcefully over her head and then you’re walking her back to her bed and bringing up your hands to cup her tits and wow they fill your hands so perfectly and her nipples are peeking out between your fingers and her skin is so soft and you keep snaking your tongue in and out of her mouth, licking her lips, nibbling at her.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is ever enough for Sis Motherfucking Strider. So you go for the jugular – literally. Your lips leave hers, and then you sink your teeth into her neck. Under her, she makes a noise you’ve never heard out of her before, and she arches in a way you thought a spine couldn’t bend, and it must mean you’re doing something right. When you pinch her nipples between your fingers, they harden under your touch, and when you twist them, she does something with her hips that’s like a shimmy-shake. Wow. You can manipulate her so easily just by touching her.

Skimming your hands down – you need her abs, you want her abs, they look so good, they feel so good – you stop at the Spandex of her shorts. “These need to come off,” and when you say it you don’t even recognize your own voice. You fist your fingers in the top of her underwear, peel them down, and she even lifts her hips for you. Oh. Oh, my god, that’s her bitch ditch. That’s her ham wallet, right there, under your fingers. And when you pet her pink taco, it’s slick and plump and it feels like juice is dripping down your fingers.

You need to see what you’re doing. While you pet along her folds, you move down her body, stopping to nip at her nipple and take it in your mouth before you search between her legs for her fuckhole. Yeah, you have no idea what you’re doing, but you’re at least going to act like it for now. “Dove,” Sis says from somewhere far away, and you have no idea what that tone is supposed to mean but you can’t stop now.

There. You can feel it with your fingertip. You push a finger inside – it slips in so easily – and the way she moves her body is enthralling to you. Something in your stomach clenches, and suddenly you’re very, very glad that you’re not having these nervous flutters around Joan. When you thrust in with your finger, she actually rolls her hips with you before she remembers that you’re supposed to be doing all the work here. In retaliation, you don’t just move up to two, but go straight to three fingers, and some strangled noise comes out of her and you’re so sure that she didn’t mean to do that and you must be doing something right.

How does she do that when she’s with you? She crooks her fingers, doesn’t she? You hook your fingers into little commas, digging into her front wall, and you get a gush of fluid that goes all the way down your elbow. “So you do learn,” is Sis’s breathy comment, and you have to start fucking her harder so the words fall out of her head and not just her mouth. “Your mouth, babygirl,” and she only calls you that when she’s particularly fond of you, and her hand comes up to lay heavy on your head and guide you down to where she wants you.

Oh. Okay. Uh. So this. Is a thing. That is happening. Apparently. You’re going to go down on your sister. You feel like cheating if you leave your fingers in her, but you have to ease out, and she shifts a little, like she doesn’t want to let you go when you pull out. The smell down here… it’s intoxicating. Musky and salty and overwhelming, and when you touch your tongue out to taste her it’s the same except on your tongue. “Whoa,” is your eloquent response.

“Flat of your tongue, cutiepie, flat,” but she practically moans it out and you know she’s impressed that you even got this far. You’re going to do it. You’re gonna put your mouth on your sister’s cunt and thrash your tongue around in it and do whatever it is those chicks in lesbian porn do to make their girlfriends come.

You gotta get face deep in it eventually. When you get the flat of your tongue against her folds, your nose bumps up against her clit and your cheeks are pressed against the rest of her crotch. “Holy shit,” you say right into her dick sauna, and you end up motorboating her fucking cunt while you try to lick her like you mean it. Her clit’s hard, a little bump that keeps nudging against the tip of your nose, and you have to pay attention to it eventually but the taste of her girl goo, holy shit you could come just from tasting her. You didn’t even realize you were getting wet, too, getting off to this just as much as she is, and you’re not even touching yourself but you rub your thighs together for some friction, any friction, and it’s not enough.

Sis’s hand threads through your hair, but she doesn’t force you closer. She doesn’t force you off, either. Is she actually enjoying this? Just to make sure, you move up, purse your lips, and kiss her clit with a big wet “mwah!” that makes her whole body twitch under you. So she likes it when you suck it into your mouth? You try it again, and then both hands are in your hair and she’s nearly pulling it out with how hard she’s holding your head in place, and you never ever want to stop sucking on her button if it makes her react like this.

Time to up the ante again. She’s so wet, so turned on, that you can slip two fingers inside her again effortlessly. While you suction her nub, you fuck her open, and you can feel her thighs tensing around your shoulders. You wish you could hear her better, because you could swear she was making little cooing noises with every exhale, and then –

She drenches your face.

It feels like she’s pissing on you. It’s degrading. “What the fuck?” you cry out, but it just keeps coming, even when you take your fingers out from inside her. All she’s doing is yelling like she’s being murdered, and you can’t have Joan hearing that, what if she heard, what if she actually realized what was going on in here, so you reflexively put your hand over her mouth to shut her up, your dirty hand covered with her slickness, and she actually takes your filthy fingers into her mouth and bites down on them to keep from making noise and it’s so hot and you can feel that wetness around you and something inside of you clenches and won’t let go and you’re coming, holy shit, you came without her even having to touch you.

When she calms down, you realize that for the first time, she’s more naked than you are. This is the first time you got her to do that. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that,” and she’s right back to mocking you, this was how it was supposed to be, you weren’t supposed to do so well.

“What the fuck,” you repeat, wiping off your face onto her sheets.

“Squirting,” she explains, but there’s no real bite to her tone. She’s actually trying to give you sex-ed, and at least this time it isn’t hands-on and she’s actually trying to be informative. “You gotta be prepared if she does that, babygirl.” Her voice is still breathy, and you wish you could keep her like this all the time, soft and almost kind.

But this isn’t her. Not really. She’s all naked and shit. It’s not right. You look away – at your hand, your shiny fingers. “I gotta – fuckin, I gotta wash my – my hands, my face, fuck…”

Thank fuck Sis taught you how to flash-step. It means you can avoid Joan on the way to the bathroom. You absolutely cannot face her right now. She needs to know about what just happened, about everything, really, and it’s the one thing you can’t tell her about. She’ll freak. She’ll hate you.

She’ll leave.


	11. Chapter 11

She’s been gone for an awful long time.

You heard screaming. Shouting. Crying. More screaming. Wailing. Moaning. And then, finally, the sound of the door opening again, only to be followed by the door to the bathroom slamming shut. You curl in on yourself even tighter. Something in your core is mad. Righteously pissed off. Indignant and angry. You and Dove were just trying to have fun.

And then Sis came in the room. Even though you kissed her just a few hours ago, she was pissed off… because she found you kissing. This doesn’t seem right to you. Is she mad because you kissed Dove again? Or is she upset because Dove was kissing you and she’s trying to keep the girl chaste or something? You’re terrified of Sis, but at the same time, you feel like you’re on fire, waiting to blow up at her, explode with rage you didn’t know you were capable of.

You see the door handle turn, but don’t hear a sound. In a few seconds, Dove slinks in, trying to be quiet. She’s wrapped in Sis’s smuppet-print bathrobe; it looks like a kimono on her. You’d think she was pretty in a potato sack. Her gaze is pointed straight at the floor, her shades obscuring her emotions to you. It’s almost like she doesn’t notice you’re there. “Hey,” you say quietly.

She raises her face so she can look at you, and you see her other cheek. It’s turning purple. “What,” she says flatly.

“Oh. Oh, shit, Dove…” You get up off the bed and make as if to hug her, but she beelines for her own bed; instead of flopping, she climbs in and curls in on herself, like a cat licking her wounds. “I’m gonna… shit, I’ll be right back.”

There’s only one thing you can do for her, but by God, you’re going to do it. It’s your fault she got into this mess, and your mind runs in circles while you get an ice pack out of the fridge. It burns your hands, it’s so cold, and then you wrap it in a towel and take it back into the room. “I don’t want it,” is Dove’s first reaction, before you even shut the door.

“You need it,” you say softly. You sit on the edge of her mattress, but she doesn’t turn over. “I need to see the side of your face. I’ll roll you over if I have to.”

She does it of her own volition; her body curves around you like a parenthesis, belly pressed to the small of your back, thighs against your thighs, arms draping across your lap. The mark on the side of her face is hideous. “It’s not that bad,” she mumbles as you pluck off her shades. She doesn’t put up any resistance.

“Hate to break it to you, but yeah. It is.” You put the ice pack to her cheekbone and she hisses with pain. “What happened?”

“I walked into the door. What the fuck do you think happened, Joan?” She sounds so bitter. “Not all of us have model families.”

“I don’t have a dad,” you remind her quietly. She’s just lashing out because she’s in pain. “Why did she hit you?”

“I hit her first.”

“Why did you hit her?”

She snorts out a derisive little laugh. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You reach down to run your fingers through her hair.

Dove curls up closer against you. “She said I didn’t kiss you right. That you were sloppy. She was making you out to be a slut, what was I supposed to do?”

“Not slap your sister!” Not like you really know what being a sibling is like – you just have Jude, and he doesn’t really count – but you don’t think you’d ever hit him, even if he started insulting Dove. “I heard you two – I heard screaming and yelling and I wanted to come in and ask if you were okay…”

“You didn’t wanna walk in on that,” Dove mutters darkly.

“Oh, god. Dove, if she did anything else to you, I will get Zillyhoo and I will introduce her to the business end of it, I’m not fucking around with you, I will fuck her up.” You hear the words as they spill out of your mouth and they sound completely foreign to you.

“It’s not what she did to me.” You can’t decipher her tone.

You’re not exactly as sharp as Ross, but you’re not stupid, either. “It’s what you did to her. What did you do to her?” You won’t stop touching her hair. She needs that small comfort from you right now.

“Joan.” Okay, this is serious. She rarely uses your given name. “I don’t want to tell anyone what just happened in there.”

That, to you, means one of two things, and neither of them are good. Of course, you’re a fucking moron and you try to make light of it by cracking a joke. “Do you need me to get out the doll so you can show me the bad touch?”

She rolls away from you, cringes, and says, in a voice almost too low for you to comprehend, “Get out.”

There’s a tense silence in the room. She yanked herself away from your touch, and after what she just said, you’re afraid to. You know she can hurt you – badly, and not just physically. Those words cut you deep. “Dove, wait –”

“Get. Out.”

“I just…” But when you look down at her, her eyes are closed and she’s hugging her knees to her chest. “I didn’t mean…” The pure loathing – for herself? for you? for her sister? – that’s emanating from her right now will suffocate you if you stay. “Fine. I’ll leave.”

“Good.”

You have no idea where you’re going to go, but you’re not going to stay when Dove wants you gone. While you step into shorts, you mull over the pitiful map of the city you have in your mind. “I’m taking my phone,” you tell her while you pull a shirt over your head, your breasts, your stomach. You’re too hurt by what she said to cry about it yet, but you can feel it gathering in your throat, a lump that constrains your voice while you try to stay casual. “I won’t go far. Just tell me when you want me back.”

“Leave,” is Dove’s final instruction.

You hate yourself for it, but you take your purse, pitiful as it is, and sling the strap over your shoulder so the bag rests at your hip. “I’m sorry,” you try, but the words just hang in the air, meaningless as the breath you used to speak them. Trying to seem confident, you stride towards the door, chin high, and close it behind you. No slamming. You don’t hate her. You’re just confused, and hurt, and angry, and you have no idea what to do with the feelings threatening to spill over your chest and vomit out through your mouth.

You walk out of her room. You walk out of the apartment. You walk out of the building. You walk out of her sight. And with every step, you grow more and more lost.


	12. Chapter 12

You have no idea where you are – in more than just a physical sense.

The sign says Eastwood Park, but it’s not very verdant. This is a place for skaters. What the hell are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is a place where Dove would dominate. You take a seat on a bench and watch a blonde kid doing kickflips, trying out a new grind down a rail, and you’re totally enthralled with the kid’s performance until the kid’s friends walk up with huge smiles, saying “Hey, chica!” loud enough for you to hear. A girl. You were checking out a girl. You can’t escape it. It won’t go away.

You get out your phone. Having something in your hand makes you feel less lonely. Less rejected. Less of a failure as a friend. You don’t know who to talk to, though. None of the trolls would understand the feelings you’re having. You’d talk to Ross, but you don’t want to know what he and Dove talked about. And Jude… as much as you care about him, you don’t want him to know this. You feel so alone.

When your phone vibrates in your hands, you almost drop it out of shock. The notification noise is for Pesterchum. Who wants to talk to you? Some chumhandle you don’t recognize, timaeusTestified. Wonderful.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 15:49 --

TT: Where are you?   
EB: who is this?   
TT: Sorry, Joan.  
TT: It's Sis.   
EB: leave me alone.   
TT: Where are you?   
EB: some skate park.  
EB: eastbank?   
TT: I'm coming to pick you up.   
EB: no!  
EB: i mean, i was gonna get dinner here.  
EB: there's a cool sandwich shop up the street.   
TT: Get the roast beef.  
TT: And come home soon.  
TT: My ass is on the line.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 15:55 --

You don’t know how to get home from here, though. You walked here blindly from the apartment complex, your eyes full of tears and your chest full of hurt. This was one of the worst ideas you ever had. It was just supposed to be a two-week visit. It was just supposed to be two weeks with your best friend. And now you had your first kiss – kissed your best friend – kissed your best friend’s sister – and your best friend got hurt by her sister. You have no idea what to do. You’re in over your head. It feels like you can’t breathe. When Dove told you to get out, it knocked the air from your lungs. You’re not a hero any more. You’re completely out of your element.

And the Striders were the ones to do it.

Your phone vibrates again. For once, you actually wish it was Ross. Maybe he learned something from Dove earlier and wants to tell you. But no, it’s Dove herself.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:01 --

TG: hey   
EB: hi.   
TG: i shoudntve asked you to leave   
EB: ...   
TG: dont ellipsis at me egbert  
TG: i cant do this right now   
EB: i don't know what to say.   
TG: heres a few suggestions  
TG: ill come home right away dove  
TG: ill be your knight in shining armor dove  
TG: whatever your heir in polyester i dont give a shit  
TG: ill protect you from yourself dove  
TG: i accept your apology dove  
TG: its all right dove  
TG: i still love you dove  
TG: were still best friends dove  
TG: ill stay with you til the end dove  
TG: got all those from romcoms but i think you get the gist   
EB: i don't know what to say.   
TG: god damn it egbert  
TG: i wish you were here   
EB: then why did you ask me to leave?   
TG: because what i want to tell you  
TG: i cant tell to your face   
EB: then why didn't you tell me before now?   
TG: i never thought it would go this far  
TG: i thought it would just be one time  
TG: and it did  
TG: and it wasnt   
EB: i can't believe you're trying to keep secrets from me.  
EB: we've been best friends since we were twelve.   
TG: i know  
TG: ive been trying  
TG: you have to believe me joan  
TG: im not even bullshitting you right now  
TG: i want to tell you  
TG: even though i know youre going to hate me for it   
EB: why would i hate you?   
TG: i hate me  
TG: isnt that a good enough reason   
EB: no!  
EB: what the hell is going on, dove?  
EB: what the fuck is so important that you'd risk our friendship?  
EB: and over whether or not to tell me?   
TG: you might wanna sit down   
EB: what in the everloving shit does that have to do with anything?   
TG: i dont know thats just what they say in movies  
TG: yknow when they have shocking news or whatever   
EB: i don't know if you noticed this, dove.  
EB: but we are not in a movie.  
EB: we are not in a romcom.  
EB: we are not in a drama.  
EB: and i don't want you starting shit just because you can.   
TG: joan would you just fucking listen to me jesus christ  
TG: the shit has already started and i dont know how to stop it  
TG: thats the whole fucking point  
TG: now would you kindly sit your ass down and fucking listen to me?   
EB: i'm sitting.   
TG: are you listening??   
EB: now i am.   
TG: just  
TG: do me a favor  
TG: and dont type anything for a few minutes  
TG: until i tell you you can start saying words again  
TG: you got me  
TG: i said you got me   
EB: i stopped typing.   
TG: keep stopping  
TG: or just  
TG: dont type or whatever  
TG: dont leave the chat window either   
EB: i'm on my goddamn phone, but okay.  
EB: shoot.   
TG: okay  
TG: i dont know where to start but okay im gonna do this  
TG: the shiner blooming on my face right now  
TG: that isnt the first time sis has hit me  
TG: i know you know we strife and shit but  
TG: strifing is just the beginning  
TG: shes beat the living shit out of me before  
TG: only once or twice but let me tell you  
TG: once or twice is enough  
TG: the kinda spanking she gave you  
TG: would have lasted an hour or so with me  
TG: id have bruises and welts so bad i couldnt sit  
TG: id just wheel around my computer chair and put my thighs on it  
TG: no butts allowed  
TG: and before you get all righteously angered about it or whatever  
TG: im a strider  
TG: i can take it  
TG: i dont like taking it  
TG: but i can take it   
EB: ... okay.   
TG: im not done   
EB: sorry.   
TG: you know how in the game  
TG: ross and i helped a fucking tumor explode in outer space   
EB: yeah...   
TG: ross and i were buddies  
TG: ross and i were pals  
TG: ross and i were the derse dreamers  
TG: like a fucking sibling team  
TG: and when he told me that was his plan  
TG: i told him i wouldnt let him go alone  
TG: i knew what it meant and i still wanted to go with him  
TG: were really close is my point  
TG: anyway  
TG: on derse  
TG: the two of us  
TG: spent a lot of time together  
TG: a lot of time  
TG: and when he told me about his suicide mission  
TG: i wasnt gonna let him die alone and unloved  
TG: but it was more than just that  
TG: we knew about the ectobiology and shit by then  
TG: and it didnt matter  
TG: because we were going to die  
TG: we had important mortality shit on our minds  
TG: and we decided we were going to go out with a bang  
TG: and thats what we did  
TG: well not literally  
TG: the star did go bang  
TG: but the two of us went supernova before we left  
TG: and after cause we went godtier  
TG: but thats not my point  
TG: ross and i banged  
TG: there  
TG: i said it  
TG: i told you ive been with a guy before  
TG: ross was the guy

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] is now an idle chum! --

TG: still with me egbert   
EB: sorry, i dropped my phone, i'm still here.   
TG: okay your talking privileges got revoked again  
TG: typing talking whatever  
TG: i wanna say its not as bad as it sounds  
TG: but thats not really true  
TG: its not like we didnt know about the genetics thing  
TG: we totally knew  
TG: we did it anyway  
TG: but we didnt grow up together or anything  
TG: he was just this guy who was my friend  
TG: this guy who was apparently my brother who was going to die  
TG: this guy that i cared about who i would stay with until death did we part  
TG: and we rationalized it  
TG: hes really good at rationalizing really fucked up stuff with psychobabble bullshit  
TG: dont know if you noticed by now  
TG: anyway  
TG: there was a lot of talk about social morays  
TG: not the eels but you get what i mean  
TG: a lot of bullshit about breaking ancient taboos  
TG: and since it was only the one time  
TG: i went along with it  
TG: because lets face it  
TG: if i was only gonna be with one guy in my entire life  
TG: id want it to be ross  
TG: its all about trust and shit  
TG: well after the game  
TG: i was like  
TG: shit im a lesbian and im his sister  
TG: why the fuck did i do that  
TG: so i just kinda  
TG: shoved it aside  
TG: as this thing that happened this one time  
TG: but then i was thirteen  
TG: and i actually didnt know jack fuck about  
TG: well  
TG: fucking  
TG: how girls fuck  
TG: and the internet can only teach you so much  
TG: let me tell you how awkward the conversations with sis were  
TG: because lets face it  
TG: sis is a pretty hands on teacher  
TG: she never just lectures  
TG: she has to show you how to do it

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] is now an idle chum! --

TG: stick with me joan  
TG: this shit is important   
EB: i'm still here!!  
EB: i'm trying to listen.  
EB: pesterchum makes me look like an asshole.   
TG: so where were we   
EB: sis is hands-on.  
EB: and she thinks actions speak louder than words.   
TG: thus why there was so much strifing growing up  
TG: thus why she hits me  
TG: i dont learn from words  
TG: i only learn when there are physical consequences  
TG: i feel so stupid   
EB: you're not stupid, dove.  
EB: everyone has a different learning style.   
TG: i dont remember asking you to talk  
TG: this is hard enough without your snarky commenting  
TG: i know usually im the snarky one  
TG: guess this is my comeuppance  
TG: i lost my train of thought  
TG: totally left the station  
TG: im sitting here clutching my ticket  
TG: the fucking thing is derailed off the tracks  
TG: its a multi car pileup  
TG: hundreds dead  
TG: all because i dont know how to drive  
TG: or board  
TG: like i said  
TG: i feel stupid  
TG: i am stupid  
TG: look how nicely those things work out  
TG: anyway my entire life is pretty much a fucking trainwreck  
TG: i told you about sis  
TG: shes gay too  
TG: so lets go through a little experiment  
TG: we stick two gay sisters in the same house  
TG: one of them has already defied the incest boundary  
TG: and the other is a hands on kinda person no matter what shes teaching  
TG: i dont know how much of it youve seen  
TG: but shes also competitive as fuck  
TG: and i never back down from a fight  
TG: im gonna fucking defend myself and my friends  
TG: even if it means getting smacked across the face  
TG: even if it means showing her how its done  
TG: how id do it

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] is an idle chum! --

TG: god damn it joan  
TG: i need you to be here for this  
TG: not literally here but here at least this much  
TG: i dont want you to see me like this  
TG: my face is black and blue and puffy  
TG: i cant stop crying okay  
TG: this is bad  
TG: its really bad  
TG: i cant keep doing this  
TG: i cant keep this secret any more  
TG: i feel like im gonna throw up  
TG: im just gonna tell you  
TG: but i need your word  
TG: i need your promise that youre not gonna tell a soul  
TG: i dont care if they say they wont tell  
TG: you dont tell your mom  
TG: you dont tell jude  
TG: you dont tell ross  
TG: you dont tell sis  
TG: i need you to promise me joan  
TG: and if youre not there  
TG: well then  
TG: i guess this was all for nothing   
EB: i'm here.  
EB: i swear.  
EB: i promise.  
EB: i want to come back to the apartment.   
TG: not yet  
TG: im not done yet  
TG: hold off on wanting to come back here  
TG: because  
TG: heres the thing  
TG: sis and i  
TG: whenever i ask her about fucking anything  
TG: she demonstrates  
TG: on me  
TG: whenever i try to stand up for myself  
TG: she turns it back around  
TG: on me  
TG: whenever i hate myself and want to die  
TG: she starts soothing and petting  
TG: on me  
TG: that spanking you got  
TG: for me it would have been so much worse  
TG: what was painful wasnt the bruises on my ass  
TG: it wasnt even what she did  
TG: it was the fact that she did it at all  
TG: because it wasnt just a spanking  
TG: it was never just a spanking  
TG: it was total and utter humiliation  
TG: which meant cramming her fingers inside of me  
TG: forcing my body to do things i didnt know it was capable of  
TG: i heard what happened in the living room  
TG: i saw you when you came in  
TG: it was total and utter humiliation  
TG: i was so scared joan  
TG: i thought shed done the same to you   
EB: she never!   
TG: i didnt know that  
TG: i went to confront her  
TG: she turned it back around  
TG: on me   
EB: i heard you.  
EB: through the wall.  
EB: i couldn't hear words but i heard the two of you.   
TG: my punishment would never be so light as to merely clean the carpet  
TG: of course not  
TG: today when she came in the room i thought she was gonna kill me  
TG: there were words and there was some hitting  
TG: but that was just the bad part  
TG: she challenged me to fuck her like id fuck you  
TG: to prove that i deserved you instead of her  
TG: but that was just the worse part  
TG: the worst part of it was  
TG: that i did it  
TG: i fucked my own sister  
TG: and you saw me come back into my room  
TG: with a bruise on my face  
TG: and then you make a fucking joke about it  
TG: this shit isnt funny  
TG: this isnt one of your pranks  
TG: this is my life  
TG: and you were being a douchebag  
TG: so of course im gonna tell you to fucking leave  
TG: i love you but i dont have to take that kind of shit from you  
TG: there is some fucked up shit going on in my life  
TG: and shes sucked you into it somehow  
TG: she knows ive had a crush on you for years  
TG: and shes started moving in on you   
EB: wait wait wait.   
TG: what   
EB: you love me?   
TG: thats what you got out of that speech???  
TG: im trying to tell you that sis is creeping on you  
TG: shes creeping on me too  
TG: she knows how i feel about you  
TG: she knows how i feel about her too  
TG: you and i kissed  
TG: you and her kissed too  
TG: do you see where im going with this  
TG: i understand that math might not be your strong suit  
TG: but work with me here dumbass  
TG: simple geometry  
TG: we got three corners here  
TG: three angles  
TG: but theyre constantly changing  
TG: so theres no way to figure out how long the sides are  
TG: ah the scalene triangle  
TG: i just need something stable in my life right now  
TG: okay im done  
TG: im a pathetic piece of shit  
TG: in other news grass is green and water is wet   
EB: you're not pathetic.  
EB: you know who's pathetic?  
EB: i'm pathetic.  
EB: because i feel like i got in over my head by coming to stay with you.  
EB: i didn't know about you or your sister before i got here.   
TG: so youre saying that if you knew we were gay you wouldnt have come   
EB: no!  
EB: i'm saying that if i knew about your sister trying to hit on everything that moves  
EB: or if i knew you'd been carrying a torch for me for months  
EB: or if i knew what the relationship was like between the two of you  
EB: this wouldn't have been so surprising to me.  
EB: i still don't know what to say.  
EB: i'm just shocked.  
EB: flattered and confused.   
TG: i shouldnt have told you   
EB: don't say that!  
EB: i'm glad you told me.  
EB: i feel a little less in the dark.  
EB: still blinded by the light a little over here, though.   
TG: so you dont think im a disgusting fuck for fucking my brother and my sister   
EB: ... listen.  
EB: it's like what you said with the ectobiology thing.  
EB: i was there.  
EB: i pushed the buttons.  
EB: that's all it was.  
EB: the eight of us weren't exactly normal to begin with.  
EB: we don't have normal families.  
EB: but this still looks abusive.  
EB: at least from the outside.  
EB: she hit you, dove.  
EB: she's on a fucking power trip.  
EB: that's what's really disturbing me here.  
EB: if it was just that she was teaching you...  
EB: don't take this the wrong way or anything.  
EB: but i would totally want your sister as a hands-on sex-ed teacher.   
TG: watch out we got a badass over here   
EB: shut up, no one asked you.  
EB: if she'd just step off with the creepiness, i wouldn't have a problem.  
EB: where i have a problem is where she bullies you.  
EB: and pushes you around.   
TG: and how do you suggest i do this oh wise one   
EB: i don't know!!  
EB: but we'll figure it out.   
TG: and when you say we what exactly do you mean   
EB: you and me, numbnuts.   
TG: oh   
EB: did you miss the part where you're my best friend no matter what?  
EB: this is pretty fucked up, i won't lie to you.  
EB: but that doesn't mean i'm just gonna ollie out on you.   
TG: oh   
EB: stop acting so surprised.  
EB: what time is it?   
TG: dinnertime   
EB: shit, i should get back.  
EB: ... i don't know how to get back from here.   
TG: sis is flipping her shit right now that youre not here  
TG: its pretty much the best show ever  
TG: just text her for a ride  
TG: i think shes scared your moms gonna ride her ass  
TG: and for once i think i might mean that literally   
EB: you think she's that scared of my mom?   
TG: im pretty sure they fucked  
TG: she was saying something earlier about mama egbert kicking her ass  
TG: and her liking it  
TG: oh shit   
EB: yeah, oh shit is right.  
EB: sis had better hope to god that this isn't some freudian lalonde-style payback.  
EB: because i have a hammer.  
EB: and i know how to use it.   
TG: kinky   
EB: shut the fuck up, dove.  
EB: i'll be home soon.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:18 --

Your hands are shaking. It’s so hot out that you’ve practically sweat through your shirt; your shorts feel damp where the fabric connects your body to the bench you’ve been occupying. And yeah, you might be just a little bit hungry. You’re tired of feeling lost. You just want to go home.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 18:19 --

EB: hey sis?   
TT: Yeah, what is it, hon?   
EB: i need a ride home.   
TT: Still at the park?   
EB: yeah.  
EB: i decided not to get dinner.   
TT: I'll be there in a sec.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 18:20 --

And now you have an awkward car ride to look forward to. You can keep the tension to a minimum, can’t you? You’ll be on the other side of a steering column. The worst she can do is pat your thigh. If she tries to do any more than that, you have to say no.

The question is whether you have the fortitude.


	13. Chapter 13

Dinner is cold by the time you get home.

It doesn’t matter much anyway. You’re not hungry. You still manage to shove a taco in your mouth, eating alone while Dove’s presumably still curled up in herself and Sis is working on… whatever the hell she does. After washing it down with water and brushing your teeth, you spend fifteen minutes staring at yourself in the mirror.

There are a lot of things you want to ask yourself. First of all, why are both Strider chicks expressing interest in you? You’re not particularly pretty. Your short hair leaves a lot to be desired; it sticks up at weird angles when you don’t pay attention. You definitely don’t have anything near perfect vision, and your rectangular frames are awkward at best. Maybe it’s your eyes – you’ve always been proud of your eyes, deep blue and vivid – but that’s offset by your buck teeth. You wish you were as skinny as Dave is. Even being as muscular as Sis would be an improvement. It’s not like you’re fat or thick, you’re just… not slim. And yeah, your boobs are big, but your hips are so wide.

You have to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. If you keep up with the self-conscious attitude, you’re never going to get anywhere. By the time you creep back into Dove’s room, you have some semblance of a smile on your face, not too obnoxious but enough to show her that you’re still going to be here for her. “How d’you feel?”

“Shitty.” But she doesn’t say it like she’s mad at you. It’s just a fact. When she rolls over, the side of her face looks terrible, but it could be worse. She’s still clutching the ice pack you got for her. “You?”

“Confused.” She’s still not wearing her shades; meeting her eye is hard right now. “I just… can I have a hug?”

Dove shrugs. “I’m not getting up.”

“Fiiiiiine,” you drawl. If you get on her bed and hug her horizontally, you can still keep cuddling. It’ll feel like when you were on the roof, leaning on each other and looking for support. Once you get on her level, you scoot closer to her and drape an arm over her waist. You’ve done this with countless other girls at countless other sleepovers, but this is… different. Weird, but not in a bad way. “Better?”

Dove snorts through her nose. It’s as good as you’re going to get from her. She scoots closer, so that your noses are almost touching. “Take off your glasses.”

“Stop making sense.” She’s right – they cut into your face when you’re lying on your side like that. When you set them on the nightstand, they interlock with Dove’s shades. Dove slings a foot over your leg, hooking her heel behind your ankle and keeping you close to her. “I’m sorry.”

“No, fuck – why are you sorry? I’m the one that’s fuckin’ sorry.” Even though the side of her face is purple, her eye hasn’t swelled shut, and when you look at her, she looks right back. Her eyes are so pretty. “I feel like... a freak.”

“You’re not a freak.” You brush your hand through her hair. She likes that. It soothes her. Her eyes flutter shut like she’s sleepy, but you know it’s because she feels comfortable enough to be this vulnerable with you. “When did it start?”

She knows exactly what you mean. “Summer after the game. A few days after the holiday. I didn’t wanna tell her – I knew she was, or I thought she was, I didn’t really know, but I didn’t want to be – her.”

You hug her closer. Her head fits under your chin; her hand comes up to touch the space between your breasts, her palm warming your heart. “You’re not,” you murmur into her hair. “You’re not.”

“She kissed me,” she says into your shirt. Her legs tangle further with yours. “It started then.”

“Yeah, but. Like.” It’s hard for you to concentrate when she’s this close and she smells so good. “You already got kissed, right? By Ross?”

“Yeah, but it was different.”

“Different like how?”

“Different like – okay, so kissing him was like this…” She pulls herself up your body with her hand fisted in your shirt, and something sparks in your stomach. At least you’re prepared for it this time when her lips touch yours, but this time, there’s something foreign about it. It’s more like your mouths are smashed together than your lips are touching. Still, she’s kissing you. When she pulls back, you’re a little dazed, eyes unfocused from more than just astigmatism. “And kissing Sis – you know what it’s like, I guess, she kisses more like…”

This time you’re prepared for it. When her lips touch yours, it’s feminine and beautiful. It feels like her mouth blossoms open for you, and you’ve never had a better taste in your mouth than the feel of her tongue against yours. It’s slow and languorous and you wish it would never end, but eventually, she pulls back – and when she does, she tugs at your bottom lip a little with your teeth, making everything about you fizzle just a little. “Oh,” is your eloquent response. “Yeah, I can – I can see how that would be different, yeah.”

“I learned everything from her,” she says, and she only sounds a little sad. “I don’t know what part of that’s me and what part of that’s her. I mean, what do I kiss like?”

You can actually show her this. “Hold still – here.” Your hand comes up to frame her face, your thumbprint touching her chin, and her lips part just that little bit as her eyes fall closed and you wish you could watch her blonde eyelashes frame her cheek for a thousand million years. The surrender in her expression is touching, and you never, ever want to take advantage of that.

When your lips lock, you kiss her like she kissed you – last night? years ago? – and make her feel the things you feel if you could draw them on her tongue with yours. It’s not like the last one. The last one was too perfect. This one is tongues tasting and teeth nipping and licking lips and even when you pull back it’s just to come up for air before you dive down again. “Like that?” Dove whispers in one of the gaps.

“Like that,” you tell her, kissing her again. But then the urgency fades and you’re just another girl kissing her best friend. (Is Dove still your best friend? You hope she thinks that of you.) There are words waiting to tumble down, but you know you’re going to regret some of them for sure. “What was it like, though? Being with Ross… like that.”

“Frantic,” she says. “Rushed. We were running out of time.”

“But it didn’t, like…” You’re flushing. You wish you could stop being embarrassed about every little thing. You’re getting better, but it’s taking a long time. “Hurt or anything?”

“Only a little.” Dove presses her hand closer to your chest, like she wants to capture your heart in her fingers. If it could fly out of your chest like a little bird, you know that’s where it would want to perch. “We tried to do it right. He, y’know… touched me. A lot.”

“But he was… he put it in…?” Your sentence ends in a lilt, because you can’t fill in the blanks without feeling like you want the earth to swallow you whole.

“Not right away,” Dove scoffs. “He – here, okay, I’m gonna show you.”

Oh. Something in your stomach knots itself. Are you really going to do this? As much as Dove has her unresolved issues, you have them too – the boy you wanted to love, and she was with him even though she shouldn’t have been – and now she’s going to show you what it was like. Okay. You breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Okay. You can do this.

It starts innocently enough, right where you left off when the two of you were kissing. But it doesn’t stop there. It’s not just your mouths that are hungry now, it’s your hands, too. She runs one up and down your side while her tongue darts in and out of your mouth, and finally, after too much teasing, she finally takes one of your breasts in her hand and squeezes it. When you sigh out, she swallows up the sound and the breath, and her other hand creeps up under the bottom hem of your shirt to rest on your lower back when you arch towards her.

She squeezes her one hand, doodles on your skin with the other, and you keep kissing her because you don’t know what else to do. Everything feels… really good. There’s a heat pooling between your legs, a familiar pressure, but you don’t know how to alleviate it without letting her know how worked up she’s getting you. Then her leg gets between yours and her thigh parts yours and she nudges the jut of her hip against your crotch and you feel like your entire body lights up. “Just like that,” Dove murmurs into your mouth, and then she stops kissing you.

Why? You moan a little in the back of your throat, not knowing how to put your need into words, but Dove seems to know this better than you do. While her fingers ghost across your back, she gets her other hand under your shirt, pushing aside the cup of your bra to actually run her fingertips across your nipple, and she rocks her hips into yours at the same time she kisses your neck. “Wow,” you breathe, “wow,” and you have the sense of mind to actually move your body while she does this. You undulate softly, rolling with her, pushing your chest into her questing fingers and rutting against her thigh while the light touches on your back rest somewhere between ticklish and arousing.

When you touch her the same way she’s touching you, she makes a soft little cooing noise in the back of her throat that makes you want to kiss it. You move your lips to her neck, your buck teeth getting in the way, but she just sighs and moves her hips a little more insistently when you accidentally scrape them against her skin. Nibbling against her jawline gets her to say “Joan…” in a tone of surrender you never expected to hear from her. She rubs up against you harder, harder, and a pressure is building between your legs that you don’t know how to alleviate.

“Ah…” comes crawling out of your throat, and then Dove pinches your nipple, which makes the sound a little louder. She shushes you, then starts kissing you again, even as you continue moaning. The two of you are humping against each other, making out as hard as you can, and one of your hands is on her ass and the other is slipping under her bra so you can touch her chest too, and the two of you are making the same high-pitched girlish moaning noises and you don’t want to stop you can’t stop –

A familiar feeling starts between your legs and radiates out to the top of your skull, the tips of your fingers, each of your toes, and you hold Dove close while it washes over you. You shiver a little as you pass through it, but it means you rub up against her a little more meaningfully, and then she’s throwing her head back and exposing her throat and scratching at your back just a little and you could swear your bare thigh feels a little more damp than when you started.

Your breathing is even and slow, if a little heavy, but Dove is wild-eyed and panting. “It was like that?”

“At the beginning,” she says, and her voice is so breathy you want to catch it in a jar and huff it behind the bleachers at the homecoming football game. “He – after that, he used his hands…”

“Oh.” You guess it makes sense. You never really touch yourself like that – you’re afraid of things going inside you, if you can be honest. You don’t even use tampons. “Didn’t it hurt, though?”

“At first.” Dove’s still cuddled up close to you. You don’t want to disentangle. “Everything hurts, though.”

“It doesn’t have to.” You put your arms around her shoulders, gather her close, and leave a kiss in the whorl of her short hair. “It doesn’t all have to be strife and discord.”

“Yeah, I’m figuring that out,” she says wryly from in your arms. Then, so quietly you almost can’t hear it, she whimpers, “Please don’t hurt me.”

You don’t know what to say. Instead of using words that could hurt her, you just hold her as close as you can. “Do you need another ice pack?”

“Nah.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

It’s just now starting to get dusky out. These are long, hot summer days. “I’m tired.”

“We should change.”

And yet neither of you move for some time.


	14. Chapter 14

Dove is asleep in your arms, little snuffling breaths whispering against your skin as she curls up and snuggles into you.

You can’t sleep, though. Your brain is replaying all of those crazy thoughts. She fucked Ross, Ross who was supposed to be yours, Ross that you wanted to be with that way, and you wish so badly it had been you, even if you had to die to make it happen, why couldn’t you have been there for him? Why couldn’t you have been there for her, come to think of it? She was your best friend. You don’t want to think about how many times she died trying to save you, how many doomed Doves she had to end, how many little birds fell out of the sky and lay scattered across the landscape.

And then her sister… You wish you could say you weren’t completely freaked out by Dove’s revelation, but you are. She’s… been with her sister. You don’t even know what that means. And it’s not just that you’re having a hard time accepting it, either. It’s that Sis is abusing Dove, taking advantage of her youth and inexperience – using you as leverage, even, to make Dove do whatever she wants. You shiver, and Dove curls up even further. Her hand comes up to her mouth like she’s six instead of sixteen, and she sucks the heel of her thumb into her mouth and starts chewing on it. So she’s fixated on her hands and her mouth. Huh.

You can’t sit here and stew in your own dissatisfaction, though. Without even thinking about it, you kiss Dove on the forehead, gently extricating yourself and making sure to tuck her into the bed before you open and close the door as quietly as you can.

Knocking on Sis’s door makes something start fluttering in your stomach. You quash it down. You can’t focus on how nervous you are right now – you have to focus on what you want to say. You turn those butterflies into little balls of anger. And you are really fucking angry right now. Still, you knock quietly. “Sis?”

“Who is it?” she yells back.

It makes you cringe. What if she wakes Dove up? What if Dove hears this exchange? Maybe she wouldn’t be able to hear the words, but she’ll be able to hear the tone. You don’t want her to know this is happening. “It’s Joan,” you murmur through the door.

“Oh! Come on in, hon.” Her voice, at least, sounds warm and welcoming. When you open the door, she’s sitting there in the dark, headphones in a ring around her neck, and the backbeat is still coming out in a tinny pulse. “Sup, babe?”

You really wish she would stop with the diminutives. It makes you feel uncomfortable. Still, you close the door behind you. Maybe you shouldn’t have just worn a tee-shirt and panties in here, but it’s not like Sis is any more dressed than you are. You marshal all your courage, take in a deep breath, and feel more like a hero right away. You could blow her away if you wanted. You could smash her like a bug under your hammer. You can do this. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

At least she turns around in her office chair to face you. Her shades are still on, but you don’t want them off – you wouldn’t be able to handle it if you had to look straight into her eyes. “Shoot.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands. Or your feet. Or your gaze. Or your everything. You settle for crossing your arms under your breasts, sitting on the corner of her mattress. “It’s about Dove.” Sis stares at you. The pressure is on you to keep up the conversation. “I know,” you settle for. “She told me.”

“Told you what, exactly.” It’s not a question.

“That…” How do you say this without getting slapped across the face yourself? “The two of you… that she told you she was gay, and then you… She said you were hands-on with teaching her what that meant, that you kissed her…” You don’t know what else to say.

Sis rolls her chair closer to you. Her motorcycle-gloved hands land on your knees; the leather is warm. You stare at her fingernails while she talks to you. “We’re sisters,” she says, and her voice is seductive and sweet. “We’re very close. I want her to feel confident. I want her to feel beautiful. I want her to know what it means.”

“So what does it mean?” You’re still mad, and there’s a bite to your voice.

Sis lets out a little breath that feathers her hair up under her baseball cap. “It’s not something that goes into words, chica.”

“So what, you just hit her across the face and that’s how you teach her?”

Sis’s grip on your legs tightens. “You know we strife around here. She has to be prepared for it at all times.”

“Her face is fucking purple!” You’re pissed. Your voice gets louder, more insistent, before you remember – Dove. “How is that okay? In what possible universe is that okay?”

For a second, you’re sure Sis is going to bruise you, too. But when she pulls her hands away, the marks from her fingertips fade. A little. You’re not sure you want them to. “It got out of hand,” she says, and she almost sounds apologetic. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“But I did. Because you hit her.”

“That’s where the problem is?” she says incredulously. One of her eyebrows moves up just that slightest bit. You feel like she’s judging you.

You take in a deep breath. Breathing is what you’re good at. As long as you can breathe, you can get your strength and you can channel it to where it matters. “You can’t keep doing this,” you say quietly. “You can’t keep taking advantage of her.”

“Is it really taking advantage of someone if they want what you’re giving them?” Her hands go back on your knees, but they don’t stay there. No, like a glacier crawl – or, more like, a magma floe – they creep up, up, over your bare thighs, moving agonizingly slowly. “I didn’t want to hurt her. I never want to hurt her. She’s my little bird. I would die if anything happened to her.”

“You’re the thing that’s happening to her!” Why can’t she see that?

“Listen, little one.” Her tone right now is somewhere between sinister and seductive, sharp enough to wound but silky enough to touch. “She loves you. And you’re gonna break her heart. Pretty soon, you’re gonna be the one that’s happening to her. And I don’t wanna have to hurt you.” And yet her hands still creep. It’s like feeling the tide wash over the shore. This could take hours.

“I don’t –” Your voice comes out as a squeak. You swallow, hard, to get yourself back under control, and you could swear you see the glimmer of a grin flit across Sis’s face. “I don’t wanna have to hurt you, either. Whatever happened in here today, she came out of here fucked up. And while you were in here doing whatever shit you do to distract yourself from what you’re doing to her, she was telling me everything.”

“So she told you what happened in here today?” You still can’t tell whether she’s going to caress you or kill you. “She told you what she did?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice as low and dangerous as hers. You may not be as old as she is, but you can bring the hurt. If she doesn’t believe you, all you have to remind her of is the devilbeast that ended her life – the same one you defeated.

When she next speaks, her voice loses an edge you didn’t realize she was polishing. “Are you jealous? Is that what’s happening here?”

“No!” But you say it too fast, too loudly, and you want to cram the word straight back into your mouth once it pops out.

“You wanted to be the one to come in here with me,” she continues, and if voices were animals hers would be a panther, prowling and prodding until she can find your weak spot. “You wanted to be the one to take the heat for it. Once you heard what she did, you wished it had been you, is that right?”

You have no idea what to do. You settle for a slight tremble that starts in your hands. Fisting her bedcovers, you try to ignore the hands still creeping up your thighs, her thumbs tracing your groin and teasing you. When she does that, you can’t breathe. And when you can’t breathe, you’re going to lose.

“Or are you still trying to be the valiant hero? Dove thinks you are. She thinks I am, too. But you don’t know what you’re doing here, little one.” Her voice makes a heat pool between your legs; her touch takes the tinder and sets it on fire. You’re almost to the point where you can’t hear her words so much as her tone, and her tone is threatening to undo you. “You came in here to confront me. I know it. Don’t deny it. But what then?”

“You were going to stop,” you say determinedly. “I was going to get you to stop. Stop making Dove – do things. Let her be on her own. Let the fledgling leave the nest. Let her fly.”

“And you were going to be the wind beneath her wings, is that it?” She laughs, and you’re not sure whether she’s mocking you or genuinely enjoying the joke. Her hands have crept almost up to your hips by now, but her thumbs… her thumbs are rubbing little circles on the insides of your thighs, and the entire crotch of your panties is wet from the thought of just move two more inches and touch me.

“She’s my best friend,” you hear yourself saying. Even though your body wants her so badly, you’re going to keep fighting to make yourself heard. “And this is all new to me, but I just – I want her to be happy, I care about her so much, please, would you just –”

The instant you say please, her thumbprint starts pressing the seam of your panties into your clit.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek to stifle the little squeak of a moan building in the back of your throat. Blood wells in your mouth, but Sis leans in, closes even that slight distance, and kisses you so delicately you swear she wasn’t even here. You lick your lips, though, and taste something that’s not yourself, and then her hand is shifting so she can show her determination and she’s pressing in and rubbing you through the cotton and it feels good but you don’t know why.

It’s slow, for one, and it’s slight, for another. “Feel good, little one?” Sis murmurs, and her cheek is practically pressed up against your own, her breath ghosting against the shell of your ear.

“Sis,” you hiss out, and the circles she’s palming into your crotch get a little faster, have a little more pressure behind them. “Don’t…” She stops entirely, and you want to scream at her, rip off her cap and her shades and rip out her hair and her earrings and hurt her, really hurt her. You really need to finish that thought, that sentence. “Don’t hurt her again, I know you love her, you’re sisters, but please –”

Once again, begging is what helps your case. You throw your head back when she starts massaging you through the fabric again, hands making white-knuckled fists as you ball up her sheets, and her lips end up tracing your neck, down to the neck hole of your shirt, and her body starts to press up against yours and you arch up so you can get more pressure and you know she can feel your nipples hard through your sleep shirt and yet you’re not embarrassed enough to really ask her to stop. “Love hurts,” she’s saying, “love hurts, she has to learn that…”

“It doesn’t,” you insist, “it shouldn’t, it doesn’t have to, she’s already been through – so much, you can’t…” But it’s hard for you to catch your breath. You gulp it down and then forget to let it out, and when you do, it whistles past your teeth until you can gasp in again. You can’t get air. You feel like you’re drowning. And when you can’t breathe, you have no power. “She’s hurting,” you pant, “she’s hurting and you can’t see it, she needs you, she needs you to be kind and soft, she’s trying but she’s confused and she doesn’t know what to do…” Are you talking about Dove, or are you talking about yourself?

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Sis says, and there’s a hitch behind her voice that sounds like she’s going to cry. She still keeps rubbing at you, her fingertips moving in circles, and you’re practically at the point of humping her hand, you need it so badly. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“Tell her,” you insist in a harsh whisper, “tell her, oh, fuck, Sis!”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs in your ear, and that’s when she sends you over the edge, hand working you like you’re one of her turntables, one of her toys, and she scratches your itch in a way you never thought possible.

Your orgasm leaves you drenched and breathless. Sis is… way too good at what she does. You can see where Dove calls it a vortex. She’s objectively attractive, and you are subjectively incredibly attracted to her. Why she thinks you’re worth her time or attention is beyond you, but you’ll take it where you can get it. She makes you feel beautiful, like an equal, makes you feel things you didn’t think were possible. She wipes her hand on her sheets while you try to remember how to uncurl your fingers and toes, try to catch the breath she stole from you.

You were jealous. You wanted it to be you. And now that it’s you, you don’t know how to feel about it. “You okay, little one?” she asks, and for once she actually sounds like she cares about the answer.

“I don’t know,” you tell her. At least you’re being honest. You stand on shaky legs, and you have to prop yourself up with the mattress for a moment before you can get your knees to stop wobbling.

“Well, are you gonna be okay?”

“I think.” You don’t really know you will, though. You get to the door, stop for a moment to collect your thoughts, and then you decide you have to leave Sis with some parting words. “I was jealous,” you admit. “But I also wanted to take the hurt. She’s been through more than you know.”

“You made your point, babe.” But she’s not being bitchy. On the contrary, her voice is soft, and you can feel the regret behind each word. It’s really the most you can ask from her.

You sneak out of her room, back into Dove’s, and you surreptitiously slip off your underwear and change before you turn back to Dove. Still sleeping. Good. Hopefully she didn’t hear. For a moment, you think about going back to your own bed – it’s hot, she’s clingy, you’ll sweat, it’ll be gross – but it feels good to have someone else close to you, someone to share warmth with.

You only feel the slightest bit disingenuous, dishonest, and filthy when you end up sleeping with Dove after her sister made you come.


	15. Chapter 15

You’re borrowing one of Sis’s old computers when Ross invites you and Dove into a private message board.

It’s weird enough to use a computer that used to belong to someone else. All the settings feel strange. None of the notification noises are right. Even the keys seem strangely placed. Plus, you have no idea what’s going on with Sis’s Pesterchum client, but it’s nothing like what you’re used to. It’s hard enough just to keep up a conversation with Dove – of course, you can just talk to her instead. She’s sitting right across from you, the two of you sitting cross-legged on her bed, facing each other with your laptop screens back-to-back like you’re playing a game of Battleship. (Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if…?)

By the time you figure out enough about how the computer works to actually join the messaging, it’s clear that Dove and Ross were already trying to argue some things out.

TT opened memo on board Tentadicks and smokin' chicks..

TT: Good morning, both of you.  
turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: what the fuck did you name this goddamn board lalonde  
TT: If you'll remember correctly, you asked.  
TG: i wasnt expecting an answer jesus tittydicking christ  
ectoBiologist [EB] responded to memo.  
EB: it isn't morning, ross!  
TT: Ah, what I would not give to be diurnal once more.  
TG: speak english lalonde  
EB: okay if this conversation isn't going to be constructive i'm leaving.  
TG: dont leave egbert  
TT: Please stay, Joan.  
TG: what do you want though  
TT: I wanted to touch base with both of you.  
TT: I know your visit's been a little tempestuous.  
TT: I was hoping things were getting better now.  
EB: things are...  
EB: interesting.  
TT: And why would you say that?  
EB: ross, you always play psychologist with us!  
TT: You always ask me to play psychologist with you.  
TG: i have a shiner  
TG: nice big fat one  
TG: takes up almost the whole side of my face  
EB: sis hit her.  
EB: i got pissed.  
EB: i confronted her last night.  
TG: i was wondering where you went  
EB: you heard me?  
TT: And how did that work out?  
EB: i don't know.  
EB: i lost my train of thought while i was talking to her.  
TG: she has a tendency to do that  
TG: was it her tits or her ass  
EB: what?  
EB: no!  
TT: Admittedly, I don't have special feelings for the female form.  
TT: But that particular one is...  
TT: How did you describe it to me, Dove?  
TG: bodacious as fuck  
EB: that's your sister!  
TG: i get to say those things  
TG: cause i get to bang it  
TT: So you do enjoy sex with your sister.  
EB: i already knew, ross.  
TT: This is the first time I've had formal acknowledgement of this from Dove.  
TG: shut up bro i wanna hear egbert say what got her wet  
EB: shut up yourself, douchefunnel.  
EB: it wasn't her boobs.  
EB: or her butt.  
EB: it was her hands, actually.  
EB: i went in there to tell her to stop hurting you.  
TG: she defended me  
TG: shes my knight in shining armor  
TG: heir in polyester  
TG: sis could go to harm her  
TG: but she never could oppress her  
TG: trying to sequester me from fighting with my sister  
TG: when we strife my life is flight frustration fright all starts to fester  
TT: Dove.  
TG: unwinding all my rhymes the beat the times i start to miss her  
TT: Dove, you need to stop.  
TG: are the lines we cross the glass we drop the moment starts to shatter  
TG: i got a million little pieces but its all mind over matter  
TG: when the air blows through the heir comes too and all my thoughts will scatter  
EB: dove, cut it out!  
TG: sorry egbert  
TG: thought youd appreciate it  
EB: i did, i guess.  
EB: but i lost my train of thought again.  
EB: i guess striders are just really good at doing that!  
TT: You said something about her hands.  
EB: yeah, she put them on my knees.  
EB: she was still wearing her gloves and her shades and her hat and everything.  
EB: and i kept telling her what i was in there for.  
EB: ... i could lie and say it doesn't bother me.  
EB: because it really, really does.  
EB: i still think she's drunk on her own power and treating you like a puppet, dove.  
EB: she's treating you like a pawn when you're a queen.  
TG: yeah thats right  
TG: if i were any more a queen youd hear freddie mercury every time i took a step  
EB: remember when i told you to stop?  
TG: yeah what about it  
EB: you need to keep stopping.  
TT: It's always interesting for me to see Dove retreat into metaphor and language like this.  
TT: An interesting parlor trick, to be sure.  
TT: Smoke and mirrors.  
TT: But one has to wonder whether there's anything of substance beneath.  
EB: no one asked you either, ross.  
EB: she... i'm not sure i should be telling either of you this.  
TT: We're all friends here.  
TG: some of us are more than friends here  
EB: dove!  
TG: what  
TG: its true  
TG: the only thing thats missing is the grimdork link  
TT: You seriously have a shipping name for us?  
EB: dove, i swear to you, i am going to tape your fingers together.  
EB: while you're sleeping.  
EB: after i put your hand in warm water to make you pee yourself.  
TG: point taken  
EB: sis can't see this memo, right?  
TG: youre using her computer though  
EB: oh shit.  
EB: i'm gonna get on my phone, hold on.  
TT: That won't fix the problem.  
TT: Her computer already has the location of this memo board.  
EB: dammit!  
EB: ... i guess it doesn't matter.  
EB: i'm pretty sure i've seen plenty of things on here she didn't want me to see.  
TT: Like what?  
EB: outtakes of her weird puppet snuff porn.  
EB: only this was less puppet snuff porn and more puppet in snatch porn.  
TG: yes alex ill take things i never needed to know about my family for one thousand  
TG: oh what do you know its the motherfucking daily double  
TG: this is what happens when your best friend finds your sisters amateur videos  
TG: what is self immolation alex  
TG: right once again  
TG: i dont just get the money i get the trip to aruba too  
TG: far far away from that knowledge egbert just dropped on me  
EB: i haven't even gotten to the weird part of my story yet.  
TG: arubas choice this time of year  
TG: you got your motherfucking huge lizards thatll eat you on command  
TG: oh shit might have to run from harley and his big fucking guns  
TT banned  TG from responding to memo.  
EB: thanks, ross.  
EB: is she still in here?  
TT: Yes, she just can't enter text.  
EB: last night... i don't know how to describe it.  
EB: sis kind of massaged her way up my legs and then things got a little strange.  
TT: Strange as in sexually charged?  
EB: yeah.  
EB: she kept saying she didn't mean for things to go that far.  
EB: she wants dove to be strong but she doesn't realize when she pushes that line.  
EB: she loves her sister.  
EB: she kept saying she'd wreck me if i ever hurt dove.  
EB: i threatened the same to her.  
EB: i still have a hammer.  
EB: hehehehehe.  
TT unbanned TG from responding to memo.  
TG: she really loves me though  
EB: you're her sister!  
EB: of course she loves you.  
EB: you're family.  
TT: That is to say, whatever passes for a family in an ectobiologically engineered situation.  
EB banned TT from responding to memo.  
EB: hehe, that is so cool.  
EB: dove, she hurt you, but she said she didn't mean to.  
TG: did she actually apologize  
EB: yeah.  
EB: right at the end, right when she...  
EB: you know.  
TG: that could mean anything  
TG: she could just be saying shit to get you on her good side  
TG: wouldnt be beyond her  
TG: im not saying shes a bitch but  
TG: shes a bitch  
EB: i don't know, i think i heard some real remorse in there.  
EB: i think you should give her the benefit of the doubt.  
EB: i told her she needs to apologize to you, not just to me.  
EB: we'll see what she does.  
EB unbanned TT from responding to memo.  
EB: how are things on your end, ross?  
TT: Busy.  
TT: I've been trying to help the two of you through your issues.  
TT: And that's on top of trying to keep up with my pre-existing relationships.  
TT: I'm glad we all got a chance to talk to one another, but I'm afraid I have to leave.  
EB: aw, ross, don't be like that!  
TG: wait before you go  
TT: Yes, Dove?  
TG: whats your dads real name  
TT: Dad Lalonde.  
TG: dont be facetious  
TT: Excellent vocabulary, sister.  
TT: His given name is Roxy.  
TT: Make of that what you will.  
TG: haha  
TG: hahahahahahahahahahaha  
EB: i think you killed her, ross.  
EB: she's doubled over and the part of her face that isn't purple is as red as her text.  
EB: i think she's crying but she's also laughing too hard to breathe.  
TG: thats fucking awful dude  
TT: I realize it's unconventional.  
TG: i just wanted to feel better  
TG: i found out siss given name is dyke  
TG: dyke strider  
TG: who the fuck names a kid dyke  
TT: This wasn't just any kid.  
TT: She came to Earth on a meteor.  
TT: She was destined for greatness.  
TT: And for lesbianism, apparently.  
TT: What about you, Joan?  
TT: What's your mother's name?  
EB: mai.  
EB: she says it like my.  
TT: I have to admit, I laughed.  
TT: Kanaye just asked what was so funny.  
TT: I'm afraid I have to go.  
TG: fine be like that asshole  
EB: it was good to hear from you, ross!  
[EB] ceased responding to memo.  
TG: take care of yourself bro  
TG: oh and  
TG: i dont think we need your help any more  
TG: if you get what im saying  
TT: As my father would say:  
TT: Wink wonk.  
TG: just one last question  
TT: What is it this time?  
TG: is it true that trolls have tentadicks  
TT banned  TG from responding to memo.  
[TT] ceased responding to memo.

“You okay?” you ask Dove. You’re still laughing pretty hard yourself.

“Yeah, I…” You haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time. It makes you really happy to see her enjoying herself like this. She’s your best friend – of course you like seeing her happy. But this goes somewhere beyond that. You close your computer, set it aside, and flop over to Dove’s side of the bed. “She really said she was sorry?”

“In as many words.” Dove tousles your hair; you make a little pleased noise in the back of your throat. This casual contact is good. It’s when things get more purposeful that you start to freak out. “I wish she’d say it to you, though.”

“Yeah.” The sigh of air makes Dove’s bangs float above her forehead. It’s still so sticky-hot in this apartment, but at least you’re attempting to wear clothes today. “Don’t beat her ass in if she doesn’t, though.”

You scoff at her. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want either of you getting hurt,” she says quietly. “There’s already too much hurt going around. I don’t want more of it. Especially not over me.” The undertone implies that she’s not worth it.

You make a noise of assent, but in your chest, you feel a bubble of hope you don’t know what to do with. Dove can be surprisingly sentimental, and even though you know she’s worth fighting for, there are better ways to make your point than to claw her back from her sister tooth and nail. You’re surprising yourself, though, with the vehemence of your feelings for her – and the confusion you want to explore with Sis.

There has to be a way to make this work that doesn’t end in disaster.


	16. Chapter 16

Sis makes dinner for you and Dove.

That’s the punchline. That’s the whole thing. There’s an odor of smoke lingering in the kitchen; it’s a miracle she didn’t set off the fire alarm. And yet the only thing on your plates is spaghetti and tomato sauce. “What’s the special occasion?” Dove quips.

“What, a sister can’t make dinner for her family and her guest?” Sis actually smiles, and for once, it’s not patronizing or sarcastic or mean. Her shades are spattered with water like the room turned into a war zone, but she looks over at you, and her smile falters the slightest bit until it shines all the brighter.

This has to be about what you said. She’s atoning, right? But you can’t get your hopes up. If Sis is anything, she’s unpredictable as hell, so there’s no way this can be what you think. She can’t even cook! She’s probably just trying to torture you with whatever she came up with in the kitchen, right? Right?

You and Dove take your seats, both of you catching the other’s eye over the top rims of your glasses. Neither of you, it seems, can believe that this is actually happening. It’s too quiet in here, and you realize – the Striders don’t have their music on, for once. It’s just the three of you.

Oh.

Sis reaches out and holds on to your hand and Dove’s, and she bows her head like she’s actually going to do a prayer. She’s not serious, right? But a thrill runs across your skin, making your skin prickle, and you can tell from the tension in Dove’s shoulders that she hadn’t been expecting that either. But you might as well complete this stupid family circle, and so you and Dove reach out over the table to thread your fingers together. It isn’t just platonic, and it makes you smile, just a little, just enough.

“Dear Lord,” Sis starts intoning, and you feel like she actually might be serious, “we thank you for the blessings of food, of family, and of friends. Pray for us sinners as we all eat our dinners. Amen.”

“Amen,” Dove murmurs, and before she lets go of you, she squeezes your hand. You squeak, you think, because she raises her eyebrow at you and a dimple comes out in her cheek and you try to suppress a dimple of your own.

There’s a tense moment of silence, mitigated only by forks twirling in sticky noodles. When you put it in your mouth, the taste is glue covered with sour basil. It’s… not anything worse than you would make for yourself. “Did you make this?” you ask her, trying to gag down the mouthful you took.

Sis just shrugs. “Least I could do.”

“More like most you can do,” Dove mumbles, not quite quiet enough to keep it under her breath.

Sis just sighs at that little comment. “I know I haven’t done the best job.”

Dove’s fork actually clatters down to her plate. When you look over, her hand is shaking. To stop it, Sis reaches out, sets her hand on top of her sister’s, and pins it to the table gently. What can you do? There’s nothing you can do. You settle for running your instep along her ankle. As long as she can stay calm, she’ll be fine.

“I’ve… done some things,” Sis continues, stumbling a little, “and I shouldn’t have done them.” And then, to your absolute astonishment, she removes her shades. She actually takes off her shades. This is serious, then.

She looks to you for a millisecond before she turns back to Dove, but you know. You know she wants your approval for this. You nod, just enough to let her see. She’d better follow through with this, or you’ll kick her ass. And you think, for once, she might feel just a little threatened.

“Listen, babygirl,” she says, and you watch her thumb caress the back of Dove’s hand, “I underestimated you. You can take all my shit and give some of it back by now. But sometimes…” She swallows, and it’s like she doesn’t know where to go from here. You gently nudge her foot under the table with yours. “Sometimes I test you a little too hard. Sometimes I give you more than you can handle. And it isn’t right.”

“What are you trying to say?” Dove’s voice is incredibly quiet, and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear she was about to cry.

A softer sort of nothing settles over the table, the anticipation of something good. “I’m sorry,” Sis finally says.

You’re speechless. So is Dove. The other girl pulls her hand away from under her sister’s grasp, withdrawing into herself. She’s still wearing her shades. She reaches beneath to rub at one of her eyes, but she’s not actually crying. Her eyes are red enough already. When you look back at Sis, you can see something like hope glimmering in her eyes. Dove picks up her fork, twirls her sketti, and then snorts out a little laugh through her nose. “This tastes like shit,” she says.

“I’m hurt,” Sis says, but her tone is light and sarcastic. “You wound me, babygirl. Come on, Joan, back me up, it’s not that bad, right?”

You can’t help it – your nervousness at this conversation starts to come out as giggles. “It’s really… really bad, Sis, I can’t even pretend, this is awful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up –” But then she puts a forkful of food in her own mouth and starts to splutter. “Okay, fuck it, who wants Chinese?”

Both you and Dove hold your hands up, and even though it takes an hour to get your takeout home, it is totally, totally worth it.


	17. Chapter 17

“Dove, can I pull you aside for a sec, doll?”

Those words are enough to make your blood run cold. It starts with your name. It continues with asking you for permission whether she can have your time. It ends with a pet name that actually makes you shiver. “Uh…” is your extremely eloquent response.

You look to Joan, but she’s of absolutely zero help. And she says your face is usually the one that’s unreadable – she has an eyebrow elegantly arched above her glasses, a dimple threatening to come out as she smirks. What the hell is that supposed to mean? But then she makes a little nod, and you understand. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I need to beat Angry Birds.”

Really? That’s her excuse? But you fold your hand of cards on the floor, pick yourself up and pull yourself together, and Sis folds you under her wing as she takes you out of your bedroom and into her own. “I just wanna talk,” she tells you, and you don’t believe her, even as she rubs your arm through the thin cotton of your shirt.

It seems to be true for the time being, though. You and she both sit down on the mattress, knees bumping against one another, and to stop the trembling you didn’t even realize you were doing, she lays a heavy hand on your knee. There’s so much weight behind that gesture. And her hand isn’t moving anywhere. You wish it would. You wish it would just start. The minute drags on into two and eventually you flinch even though she isn’t doing anything flinchworthy and you snap at her, “would you just do it already, jesus christ!”

“No,” she says quietly. She puts her arm around you and pulls you close. Your head ends up resting on her chest and you get a great view of her cleavage. “I’m not gonna do anything that you don’t want.”

“The fuck does that mean?” You’re ready for her to strike you. To push you too far. To push you away. You’re expecting it to hurt.

She just reaches up her hand to fluff your hair. You loved it when you were a kid, and it always calmed you down. You resent her – but only just a little – for knowing that it’s your weakness. “I did most of this because that’s what I would have wanted. Because that’s… what I wanted you to know. And I thought, because I knew more than you did, because I knew what I wanted when I was your age, because I knew what was best for you, I thought that would be okay.”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” you say, and your voice comes out more vicious than you intended.

“I know,” and for once, she actually sounds… morose. Introspective. Regretful. Sad. “So you need to tell me what you want.” That’s a little more biting, a little more like Sis, because the implication is that even you don’t know what you want.

“I just…” Your voice is quavering. For once, you just power through. You don’t swallow down your feelings. You don’t hide behind your swagger. You take off your shades, leave them on her nightstand, and look at her with tears in your eyes. “I just want you to be… nice,” you fumble. “Kind and gentle. But you can’t… you can’t do that. You’re Sis Strider, look at you, you’re all muscle and cold sharp steel and you’re not nice, you’ve never been nice…”

She kisses your forehead. You feel like a child. “Nice doesn’t mean soft,” she says, and she sounds like she’s trying to explain this to a four-year-old. “I still need to know what you want.”

“I want…” It’s not something you can put into words. Your chest hurts. “I want…” you try again, but nothing’s coming to your mouth or your mind. “I want…” Third time’s the charm, Strider.

You lean in, close the distance between you, and lay the gentlest featherlight kiss on her mouth.

When you draw back, there’s the faintest hint of a flush coloring Sis’s face. You don’t know how to express it any better than that. “Kiss me,” you whisper, so close she can feel your breath on her lips.

She kisses you exactly as you kissed her. Exactly as you always wanted her to kiss you. Your mouths move against one another, and then your tongues are touching, and a little whimper starts in your throat and you only want her to hear that sound, ever, you never want to be this vulnerable around anyone but her.

This is good. This is right. Just kissing her is good. You breathe hard through your nose, try to press closer to her, but she’s a step ahead of you, grasping at your thigh, and you know where she’s going with that hand and you pre-empt her move by clutching at her shoulders and moving so you straddle her, and you’re running your hands through her hair so hard that her cap falls off of her head, and her hands are grasping hard at the backs of your thighs, not your ass, and somehow it’s hotter, like she’s trying to restrain herself.

You wanna make her lose that control.

A little “ah!” comes out of your throat, half-planned and half-embarrassing, and you need more from her but you don’t know how to use your words. You thread your fingers through hers instead, then bring her hand up to your chest. She squeezes perfectly, and that sound turns into a full-throated moan. You want this. For once, you want all the touches she’s giving you. You move your hips against hers and she makes a noise, too, and this is good. This is good.

God, one day you’ll have muscles like hers, abs like hers, and you run your fingers over them under her shirt, and she helps you take it off, and then you tweak her nipples through her bra and she squeaks same as you would. She kisses you, harder, and you don’t really know what to do with your hands, but you keep running them over her, never stopping.

One of her hands comes up to hover over your crotch. You can feel the heat of it. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You need more. You cover her hand with yours and press it between your legs and rut up against her and it feels good, this is good, good, all of it is so good. In return, you press your knee up against her hips, and she keens against you, too, and leans back on the bed.

You both end up tumbling, and she lands on her back and you’re over her and this isn’t good enough she needs to have her shades off and you need to have your shirt off and your hands are rushing and fumbling. She makes as if to take off her gloves, but you stop her. “No,” you say quietly, and for once, you recognize your own voice during an encounter like this. “I like it when you wear them.”

“Kinky,” she says, and for once, you don’t feel like she’s making fun of you during an encounter like this. She rolls you over in trying to get your shirt off, but you don’t feel uncomfortable in front of her. You’ve done this so many times before, but this time, you’re doing it good. You’re doing it right. This is right. This is good.

She rains kisses down on your neck and each of them sparks the fire that’s building between your legs, winding something in your gut into a tighter coil. In retaliation, you rake your nails down her shoulders, and she seems to like that, because she undulates over you as you roll your hips under her. You can feel yourself getting wet, soaked and dripping, and you just want her fingers between your legs, but you don’t know how to ask. Not with your words. While she sucks a hickey into the side of your neck, you grab her wrist and force her hand under your panties and she gets the idea and her fingertip touches your clit and you cry out with a little “ooh!” and your hips arc up to meet her caress.

When she takes her hand away, you want to cry. That’s until you realize that she’s actually taking off your shorts, your panties, and you help her as much as you can while you fumble with hers as well. Fuck bras. Yours is practically falling off of your tiny tits anyway, and if she wants to keep hers on, that’s her choice. “God you taste good,” and you’re sure she didn’t mean for you to hear that but you moan anyway and you bare your throat so she can bite down into it and mark you. Joan already knows. This is already so transgressive, and you really don’t want it to stop.

She dips two fingers in you, and that’s just to start. You cry out, because it feels like a stretch, but she wriggles them in, bit by bit, and eventually you can feel the seam of her glove at your entrance and you know your snatch juice has to be ruining her gloves but she knows you want it like this and she’s willing to make sacrifices for you, she’s doing this for you.

You drag down her face – you need to kiss her – and when she turns her neck you just bite down instead. You’ve never heard her make a noise so loud during this before. The two of you are so close that you share the same body heat, the same air, the same person, you’re the same, of one mind, but you still can’t figure out what she’s doing that she’s not paying so much attention to you.

A little hum starts up, and at first you think it’s her, but then you realize it’s too deep, she’s not making that noise, and then –

and then –

It’s a vibrator and it’s touching your clit.

You practically blow straight through the roof with the force and unpredictability of your orgasm.

She’s a little merciful and takes it off of you straightaway, eases you through it with her fingers digging into your g-spot, and you end gasping your air out of her mouth and you feel like you could actually melt through the bed with how good, how comfortable, how right you feel.

But she’s not done yet. Oh, no, of course not. Not Sis. But she’s not pushing a boundary you don’t want moved. No, you want more. That was just a teaser, and she knows it as well as you do. You open your eyes wide, catch her glance and see her smile, and then you look down – fuck, that’s a smuppet dildo. That’s a fucking smuppet vibrator. And you can’t even bring yourself to care.

She touches it to your slit again and you cry out as loud as you damn well please. That’s so good. She knows it, too. You want it inside you, but she has to take her fingers out to do that, and you feel so empty until the little bulbous nose is nudging against your entrance and you give, you give so easily, but this stretches you even further than she’s stretched you before but this is a boundary you want to push, you want her to do this.

Your entire everything is throbbing and wanting and you want to give Sis things too but you can’t quite coordinate your hands and your mind so what happens is your hand petting through her folds over and over and over again, threading her lips through your fingers and rubbing until you hit a rhythm. The curved nose of the smuppet hits up against your g-spot and you feel like you’re going to die. She needs to know how it feels, that sharp edge of pleasure, and so you take your hand away and gently pat your hand against her cunt.

She nearly jumps off the bed and squeals in delight and you love that you can do that to her. You slap her again and it makes a wet sound and she jerks the dong in you and it’s good, it’s so good, she’s touching you how you want and you’re touching her how she wants and this is right, this is good. It’s filthy and filled with fluid and you love it all the more for that. You can’t help but let out a little snort of a laugh in delight because you never imagined it could be this good, that you wouldn’t hate yourself while she was touching you, but you’re okay with this and you love this and you love her, for once you don’t hate her, for once you don’t even pretend or try to hate her.

Your second orgasm hits you by surprise, too, and it radiates to your entire body, making you twitch and shake, and Sis murmurs things in your ear and then sucks on your earlobe and it just keeps it going. That was just from little oscillations of the smuppet inside you – she wasn’t even thrusting – but you need more, two was good but three would be better, you need everything, all of them, right now, and you jerk your hips so that the thing moves in you and you ride it like it’s your job.

Sis helps you with it, thrusting it in and out of you, and you’ve worked up to grasping her ass so hard you’re probably bruising and slapping her slit like you’re spanking it and she loves it, it’s perfect for her, how did you never realize she liked this? You were doing it rhythmically, but when you hesitate she makes a little needy whine and drops her hips so she can rut up against your thigh and get her stimulation that way. You hold her up, deny her, and then start slapping her until you’re sure she can’t handle it, until there’s a tremble running under her skin that you never thought she’d show, until she’s crumbling over you and showing that she has weaknesses too and showing you that this is good, this is right, this is so, so good.

“Yes,” you pant through your mouth, “yes, yes, Sis, yes, Sis…” Her name is the equivalent of an affirmation, and it’s only spurring you higher, only making her happier, and you feel like you’re going to dissolve and dissipate through the air – breathe, Dove, breathe, Joan, breath, air, breathe – and you keep moving on the dildo, fucking yourself on it, and you slap Sis out of any sense of rhythm and you know she likes the unpredictability, especially coming from you.

You know when she’s getting close. She starts fucking you with a vengeance, the smuppet making little schlicking sounds in your slickened slit, and it’s paired with the slap-slap-slap of your palm on her pudenda and you’re sure she’s turning red and she won’t be able to sit and yet she’s laughing and smiling like she wants this from you and you know you feel the same because you want this from her and you’re so close your toes are curling in and you can feel the vibrations all the way up to your skull and you want her to fill you with that thing fuck you on it like she means it dig it into your g-spot until you cry –

This one, this one’s the one, this one’s the one that finally satisfies you, and you nearly feel like you’re pissing yourself with how good it is and Sis drenches your entire hand and you can’t breathe but you don’t need to you’re awash in fire and it goes on forever and you swear you can feel her heartbeat under your skin in a thousand million billion trillion little pieces each of them buzzing and vibrating in harmony with you.

Gay, you think to yourself as you come down from your high, gay gay gay gay gay, and you shake your head slowly from side to side as you try to recover from such a world-wrecking experience. She eases the smuppet nose out of you – it’s sore, but in a good way – and you wipe your hand on the sheets – it’s sticky, but in a good way. You could swear Sis is saying your name, over and over, but then you realize that she’s swapped out the first consonant, what she’s really whispering into your ear while she pets your hair is “love, love, love.”

“Gaaaaaaaaaaay,” you drawl, and you push her off of you playfully. You just want to stretch out in her bed, but she pulls you close and keeps you in her arms.

She still seems hesitant and you don’t know why. “Did you… want that?”

She’s actually asking you what you feel about it? She actually cares? This is new. “No, I let you do it because I was terrified,” you say sarcastically.

But she doesn’t bite you back. Somehow, her hold softens around you, and even though she just came, it’s only now that she’s falling apart. “I didn’t mean,” she whispers, and you realize – this is your big sister and you might have just made her cry – how? “I’m trying,” she says, a little stronger, “I don’t want to keep… doing what I was doing, I don’t want to scare you, fuck, you’re my li’l sis, my babygirl, I care about you, I love you…”

Why won’t she shut up? Your face is wet again, and you wipe off your tears on her sports bra. “I was being sarcastic,” you murmur to her breasts. “I… that was good. That was okay. It’s okay, Sis.”

It’s only just now that you realize you don’t have the same nicknames for her as she does for you.


	18. Chapter 18

You can hear them through the wall.

You didn’t lie to Dove when you told her you wanted to beat Angry Birds. At the same time, you know what Sis pulled her aside to do. There was absolutely no question. And now there are little furtive gasps and moans filtering through the walls of the apartment. The walls aren’t even all that thin.

Must be going at it hard.

You draw your knees up closer to your chest, perching your phone at eye level. At one of those little sounds, your thighs start shifting against one another. Wow. Another sound follows the first, and this time, you know it’s Sis. (Sis moans? Sis breaks her pokerface?) Your thighs shift again, and you can almost feel your slit pulse in your panties at the thought of what’s going on in there.

Creak of springs, little sigh – someone got pushed into the mattress and lost their breath. Have they lost their shirts yet? They have perfect bodies, both of them, and you feel so ugly next to them, but it only means you want the two of them more. You imagine Dove flinging her shirt away, her bra so lopsided that her tits are already falling out, and now it’s you making the little whimpering needy noise as you shift your thighs for friction.

This isn’t gonna work. You need more. Without any more ceremony, you plunge your hand past the top of your shorts, the elastic of your panties, and you keep your thighs as closely pushed together as they’ll go. Why do they have to be so big? The Striders are so slim, slim and perfect, their thighs with the little gap between the tops of them and the crotch of their shorts – Your fingertip finds your clit and you make a catlike mewling noise before you remember to bite your lip. You still want to hear them.

Dove’s louder. Of course she is. She isn’t as experienced. But she’s really letting herself go with Sis. You wish she had made some of those noises with you. She sounds beautiful like this, and you wonder what she looks like on the other side of that wall. Your fingertip rubs in little insistent circles, and your head knocks back against the wall. “Ffffffuck…” you whisper through your teeth.

You wish you could actually see them. Hell, you wish you could be there. What would it be like, to be in a Strider sandwich like that? Would they work together, or would they still be competitive? Would they still be focused on each other, or would everything be laser-guided towards you? You’re so perverted, even when you try not to be, but now that your mind’s here, it’s like you can’t get it off. Because you want both of them, right? You want Sis, the enigma wrapped in a mystery with a riddle bow on top, and you want to strip all of it away and see her as she really is beneath everything. And Dove – Dove is your best friend, and you feel so comfortable with her, so comfortable that she made you come, so comfortable that you never want to stop kissing her and breathing her in, so comfortable that you want to be naked with her and do unspeakable things to her, with her, on her, over her…

A little motorized sound starts up on the other side of the wall and something flares in your stomach that feels an awful lot like jealousy. Then Dove shrieks and you know you want that to be you. Which one? Does it matter? You want to be the one Sis is using the vibrator on – you want to be the one nudging Dove towards a mind-shattering orgasm. You want to be there, in the midst of it, one or the other, or neither, or both, and everything’s so confusing in your head but you can hear your own breathing and Dove’s harsh pants as she comes down from it.

The buzzing gets a little muted and Dove makes a beautiful birdlike sound – it’s inside her. You can’t handle it. Your hand pushes further between your legs, your middle finger searching for your entrance. You’ve never done this. You’ve never thought you would like it before. But your finger sinks in, and in, and in, and you’re ready for it, you want this, and you coo to yourself even as Dove starts to practically scream.

There’s wet slapping sounds coming through the wall now – is Sis actually fucking her? Your mind goes to Sis’s business, all of the sex toys she probably has, all the way she could fuck you – Dove – herself, and you can’t stop thinking about it and your fingers and toes curl in and to your surprise you hit a spot inside yourself that sparks a sensation you’ve never felt before, “holy shit” that felt really good and you want it to happen again.

You curl your fingers again and find it and you never want to stop. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and you sneak a second finger inside yourself and dig your fingertips forward and rub and rub and rub and all you can hear is Dove shrieking and the laughter coming from Sis after every single one of those slapping sounds and despite your best intentions you’re thinking of yourself between them, tangled in them, over them and under them and with them in every way possible, and when you come your legs start to shake uncontrollably and you feel like you might start crying from the overwhelming intensity, “shit, shit, shit!”

They’re still going. You ease your hand out of yourself, soothe your slit with a petting touch as you take your hand out of your panties – it’s disgusting, ew, ew ew ew, your entire hand from heel to fingertip is covered in girl juice and you need to wash your hands yesterday. You feel the heat gathering in your face at it and cuss at yourself for being such an easy lay, so flustered and embarrassed by your own body and your reactions. You sniff your fingers – yeah, you’re gross – and it’s… The consistency reminds you of snot, almost. When you dart your tongue out, it doesn’t actually taste terrible. Just like snot. It’s almost reassuring. Not any more gross than any other part of you, really.

Still, you abscond to wash your hands before the Striders finish and try to shower together or anything, and that single thought makes you want to touch yourself all over again.


	19. Chapter 19

You never have any idea what Dove wants you to do when she shows you her music.

The thing is, she’s always so proud of it, and you never seem to understand what she’s trying to tell you. There’s weird electronic buzzing sounds in there, angry discord and something jangling that little bit off-key, and there’s a pulse of bass that sounds filthy underneath it all.

So when she decides to play her newest composition for you, you don’t quite know what to do. You settle for standing there awkwardly, one of your hands holding the other arm and rubbing up and down nervously. “So, uh. What’s this one like?” you try.

Dove is cool, despite the sweltering heat outside. The two of you are even wearing clothes today, but hers is a men’s XL scrunched at her waist with a hair tie. Her jeans shorts are so short they might as well be exaggerated denim panties, but you suppose your miniskirt isn’t much better. Still, her pockets are sticking out. Something about that ought to be illegal – probably the part where it makes your mouth water thinking about messing with those pockets, or pulling those shorts down…

To your surprise, Dove actually takes off her headphones. Instead of giving them to you so you can hear what she’s done, she hooks up the massive speaker system in her room to her gadgetry. She’s tried to teach you the names of these machines before, but all you really need to know is that her computer, the heart of the music, is awash with colors and graphs and spikes and rolls. Despite yourself, you actually wanna hear this. “Calm down, Egbert, it’s just music,” she says, but there’s a warmth behind it. She likes it when you show interest in her interests. “It’s kinda Skrillex-inspired, but I’m trying not to be too fucking derivative. Just listen, okay?”

She starts to play it, and you don’t really like it all that much. Something angry is in this beat, and it crackles and splits and hisses in on itself like it’s a living monster, out to devour you. Dove has it turned up so loud that you can’t say any of your fake compliments out loud to her. You don’t understand what the hell she’s trying to do here, if this is her fancy electronic music or whatever – why can’t she make real music, the kind with a piano and a guitar and actual drums and not a drum machine –

When she starts to dance, you suddenly start to understand.

The beat turns lewd as her form embodies the sound, and an actual tune starts up in the background, like the 8-bit sounds from your old video games. It’s cute and kind of retro – just like Dove, in a way. Her aviators are so big that they bounce around on her face a little as she moves, and her short hair fans out around her face in a blonde, sunlight-stricken halo. When she undulates, her shirt hikes up on her stomach just that little bit, showcasing the skin above the waistband of her shorts. Fuck, you could watch her do this all day.

You don’t notice you’re staring until Dove catches your eyes over the rim of her shades. “Dance,” she mouths at you.

“No, no,” you mouth right back at her. This music sounds like the hiss of breath between clenched teeth, seething with its own roiling emotions, and if this is really what Dove feels like in her head and under her skin you don’t want to crawl in next to her and let it inside you and allow it to rip you apart. It feels like you could dissolve if you give in.

Then the words start, and your body moves of its own accord.

“Breathe into me,” the song says to you, the sound scratchy and soft and slow. Something in the back of your mind recognizes this as Dove’s voice after a healthy dose of autotune and digital warping. “Give me your air.” Your hips sway, your eyes closing as you raise your arms a little. “Show me your skin.” While you shift, your hands come above your head, and your hips move as fluidly as you can make them. “Show me you care.” You’re not much of a dancer, but this song makes it easy.

Somehow, the song builds up and gets more intense with each part that passes. The bass gets more intense, more insistent, and your body feels possessed by the music as you move. “Clockwork and gears,” and you can feel Dove getting closer, her body heat still tantalizingly far. “Shivering heat.” Your own shirt is creeping up by this time, and you know she has to be staring at your belly – or maybe her eyes are closed, same as yours are, and she’s swaying to this as much as you are. “Fire and wind.” The two are coursing under your skin, and you love the way you feel right now, alive with something more than just yourself. “Elements meet.”

Her lips crash to meet yours and all resistance you had crumbles down to dust at your feet.

Your mouths are hungry, devouring one another as she pushes you back to her bed. Her shirt hikes up almost to her breasts, and you run your hands along her bare sides, making her shiver. Your hips are still moving – so are hers – and you feel electric from head to toe. And this still wasn’t all, because the bass drops in the music and it becomes so much more intense and you can feel it, you can actually feel it in your bones. The beat throbs in you and leaves you strung taut and every touch of Dove’s against your bare skin and every brush together of your lips resonates in an endless feedback loop and you’re getting wound tighter, ever tighter, until you’re tuned to fever pitch.

Her hands are perfect. How did you never notice this? The slim, dexterous fingers start to strip you of your shirt insistently, and all you can think of is how much you want to watch her work, fingers on the keys of her keyboard or maybe a piano, tweaking the EQ and pushing up the treble and fiddling with dials and messing with doohickeys until it sounds as good as this, until you sound as good as this, because you can feel the hum in your chest that’s a moan subsumed by the music.

Everything’s so frantic. The music is insistent, and so are you. You need her. You’re burning alive. It’s her that started this fire under your skin, tick-tocking ever closer to detonation, and yet her hands and her mouth are precise as clockwork as she pets and pinches and nips and squeezes and you roll beneath her until you think you can’t take it. Her shirt comes off just as yours did, and your breasts slide against one another’s as you kiss and kiss and kiss, tongues touching, teeth clacking, licking and biting and everything you can as the whimpers pour out of your throat into her mouth.

You never thought it would be like this. It’s almost frightening, the intensity of the things you’re feeling, but it’s like the music was the key, in the right key to unlock a hidden chord strumming inside you all along, and now your lock is busted and your treasure is everywhere and you want Dove to plunder your box, oh, oh, okay, that’s what you want, and you know it for sure when Dove gets her hand between her legs and starts pushing your panties up into your wet slit with her fingertips as she teases you. You bring your legs up, wrap them around her waist, lock your ankles behind her back, because you don’t need words to tell her that this is right.

The same hum is under Dove’s skin – you can feel it in the tremble under your fingertips as you go to unhook her bra. But she helps you with it, fumbling with four sets of fingers until the thing finally gives, and she throws it away angrily as the music starts to loop back in on itself. Her tits are small and perfect, and when you bring your palms up they make perfect handfuls. When you squeeze, she moans, so deep in her chest that you can feel it rather than hear it. Her nipples are already hardening in the gaps between your fingers, and you pinch together your index and middle fingers and watch as they blush and peak under your touch. “You’re amazing,” you say, and you’re glad she didn’t hear, because the words falling out of your mouth are ridiculous and stupid.

It’s only a few more seconds before she gets the picture and starts working on your underwear, too. Your breasts practically spill out as soon as they’re given the opportunity, and you’re nearly embarrassed that you’re so curvy in comparison to Dove’s lean form, but she doesn’t just do what you’ve been doing, she gets her head down and puts her mouth around one of your nipples and swirls her tongue and jesus you never thought anyone would do anything like this. Her hair is babyfine as you run your hands through it, and she gently drags her teeth against the sensitive skin as it puckers for her. She can make your body do amazing things.

Her shorts are obscenely short, but you need to actually get into them before you can touch her like she’s touching you. Dove seems to get the idea, though, because as soon as your hands come up to her button and fly, she works the same on you. Of course, neither of you can get the other’s pants undone, so you work on your own skirt, getting it down while Dove strips, and then it’s you and her in your panties and she’s pushing you back on the bed and your back dissolves into the mattress as she rains kisses along your ear, down your neck, as one hand stays at your breast and the other rubs at the cotton separating sensitives from skin.

You wish you could do the same to her, but you’re overwhelmed right now. The pulse of the music has become the beat of your heart, and you clutch ineffectually at the sheets as she works on you. “Fuck,” you whisper, and once you realize there’s no way she can hear you, you wail a little louder. “Fuuuuuuck!” You wish her mouth would never leave your nipple – it feels so good, how does she know – you don’t want to know how she knows – you know how she knows and you don’t want to know exactly how she knows what she knows because it doesn’t matter when it feels this damn good.

She peels off your panties. They’re so sticky that a thin string of fluid still connects you to the fabric. Dove licks her fingers after she flings the things aside, though, and a surge runs through your gut, something throbbing and tightening and your body feels hot and cold all at once, empty and clenching around nothing to try and get its fill. You know what you would do to quash this emergent situation, but when your hand comes over so you can do it yourself, Dove swats it away, closing finger and thumb around your wrist and pinning it right back to the bed. Shit, and her shades fell off, her red eyes are staring right into yours, except for when her other hand comes up to take your glasses off and leave them on her nightstand, and your vision isn’t so blurry that you can’t see what she’s doing, you can see at least eight feet in front of you and this is up close and personal in a very literal sense.

A flush starts up in her cheeks as she brings your fingers up to your bare folds. She makes a pair of scissors with her index and middle fingers, getting your clit in the crux and massaging up and down. “Shit, shit, shit,” you start to pant, and your stomach rolls with each of your frantic breaths, each of her hand’s movements. A deep ache is resting somewhere within you, and you hope she understands, you hope she knows how you feel, because you don’t know how to tell her what you need.

But she knows, and she knows well, because one of her fingertips taps a little against your entrance before sliding in. It glides in a way you weren’t expecting, and it feels even more perfect than when it was just you, because she can plunge fuller, fill deeper, and you roll your hips on her, fucking her finger. She looks positively devilish, the grin on her face surprisingly genuine, and another finger enters alongside the first and you feel so perfect, so perfect, oh, oh god, oh god, you’re moaning and panting and screaming and you hit a peak you didn’t know you could reach.

Dove slows, but doesn’t retreat. You love that about her. She’s persistent, and she’s willing to spend the time it takes to do something right. She leans in to kiss you, and it’s gentle and sweet in a way you didn’t expect, which makes you melt even more. Her mouth stays against yours as she starts to thrust again with her fingers, pressing up insistently, and you pant and press your forehead to hers and bring up your hands to clutch at her shoulders instead of just the sheets and somehow she pushes you into another howling O before you realize what’s really happening.

Your body is going crazy, trembling and shaking, and you still don’t feel like you’ve had enough, you need more, you need it all, anything she’s willing to give, and you bring your hands up to her and pet at her frantically and bite at her lip and push your tongue into her mouth and she gasps against your lips as you dip your hand inside her panties. She feels so much different. How is that possible? You peel down and – were you this self-conscious? She seems so ashamed, and you whisper little reassuring things that she can’t hear under the pornographic throb of her music.

Kissing her is the only thing that makes sense. Your hands do what they will. One of them rubs in the slickness between her legs, and she sighs out all her air as the heel of your hand rubs against her clit. She seems even more sensitive than you are – or is it because she’s been holding off longer? You draw her down, smash your mouth to hers even harder, and something seems very right because there’s a heat in your core that’s only building, higher and higher.

And then you realize – your slits are aligned, and every rock of your hips is sending a shock up your spine.

You try it again, roll teasingly against Dove, and her nails scrabble down your arms, leaving little angry scratches in their wake. So she can feel it too, the way your bodies are joined in ways you never before imagined, and she humps up against you the same way you rolled against her. God, and you’re fucking, the hard tips of her nipples tracing little circles on your breasts as your bodies move together, your mouths sometimes capturing each other but more often than not hanging open in incredulous Os as you both try to process what’s happening here even at a physical level.

The bass drops for the second time, and you shatter completely.

Something hot is coursing through your body, a fire only enhanced at the places where you’re joined to Dove, and you scream at the feeling of absolute release, your entire body seizing and trembling so hard you can’t stay put. And Dove – Dove is absolutely wrecked, torn apart, and from what you can tell she’s screaming your name, and you wouldn’t trust it in any other mouth but hers when she’s saying it like that. For a few more white-hot seconds, there’s nothing but the end of the world, running out of time and running out of air and wringing every last drop out of these orgasms like they’re the last you’re ever going to have.

You catch your breath. So does Dove. There are little marks all over your body – grip marks from where she was clutching your thigh to slam the two of you together, bite marks around your breasts and under your fingers when you feel your throat. If possible, Dove looks even worse. Her pale skin bruises so easily, and with the color still on her face from her shiner, she wears the black and purple and red well. Her pupils are completely blown-out, and you’re not the photographer but your mind takes a picture of this moment, because you want to keep her face like this, flushed and bruised and lips swollen and glossed with drool and eyelashes trembling as she tries to pull herself together.

Your hands reach for each other at the same time. Your bodies uncurl slightly, and it turns more into full-frontal cuddling. Naked cuddling. Post-sex cuddling. Because you just had sex, didn’t you? She put her fingers in you. Dove Strider, your best friend, just put her fingers inside you. She was inside you. That’s sex. You just lost your virginity. The thought is overwhelming, and when Dove turns off the music that was suddenly all too loud, an uncomfortable silence falls in the room while your brain works overtime, gears seizing up and machinery overheating as you think this through. You just lost your virginity to your best friend, and you kissed her so hard, and you fucked her back just as hard, and she screamed your name when she came, and you don’t know what’s happening but with the intensity of what you’re feeling you’re not sure that all of it is good.

Now that the music is off, it’s far too quiet. Your eardrums feel like they’ve been blown out, but at the same time, a whisper from her is far too loud. “Joan?”

“Mmm.” You just curl up further into her, not wanting to answer, not wanting to talk. Because if you talk, that means saying words. You’re not good with words at the best of times, and now, with your brain obliterated, you have a snowball’s chance in hell that you can say the things to Dove that she deserves to hear from you. (Where the hell is Sis? Has she heard this whole thing? Will she hear this conversation?)

Judging by her sudden silence, she doesn’t seem to know what was supposed to come after your name. Maybe this is just as awkward for her as it is for you… no, couldn’t be. She’s flawless. She’s Dove Motherfucking Strider and she is flapped by nothing. But she heaves a heavy sigh that musses your sex-tousled hair even further. “I wanted to ask you a serious question, but if you’re dead I can ask later.”

“No, I’m –” Your little mumble is interrupted by a yawn. Fuck, you’re worn out. “I’m here.”

“Stay with me here.” Dove doesn’t sound as teasing or detached as she normally does. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to, like.”

“No, I’m here, I’m here, c’mon.” Most of your little ramble is mumbled into Dove’s collarbone, and you nibble along it after you leave your words on her skin.

“Do that more.” She sounds like she’s tripping over herself. You’ve never seen her less cool. (You’ve never felt her so warm or so close.) “Like. Play video games together and Pesterchum all the time and sometimes go out for ice cream and kiss a little and maybe do that again.”

“Uhh.” Your brain isn’t on right now, but it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out what she just said. “Don’t we already do that?”

“Joan, you are an unmitigated moron, I’m asking if you want to do the dating thing.”

“Oh. Uh.” Once again, you don’t exactly know what to say. “I’m leaving in a few days,” you say stupidly.

“Yeah, I thought so, stupid of me to ask.” Dove rolls over, turning her back to you, and she curls up on herself a little.

You can see her ribs when she does that. When they show like that, you reach out your hand to fit your fingers into the gaps, then stroke her side. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say softly. “I mean… we usually do everything together anyway, aren’t we kind of still going to do that when I’m not here? We can’t kiss or do – other things, right?”

“So what is this to you, then?” Her voice is accusing you of all sorts of heinous crimes.

“You’re my best friend,” you say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, but once that tumbles out, there’s so many words building up behind it that you weren’t expecting. “You’ve been my best friend for four years, and you’ve never flipped a bitch about anything I’ve told you, ever, and we talk every day for hours and I like spending time with you and I’m so glad I came to visit, and I can’t stop,” you gasp for breath, “I can’t stop thinking about you when you’re not here, I swear I can smell you when you aren’t here, I’ve never done any of this before and I trust you when you do it and I don’t mind and it feels really good and you were my first kiss and you just took my virginity, Dove, I can’t undo that and I don’t want to and I don’t want to just scale it back now that we’re –”

Dove rolls over and effectively shuts you up with a bruising kiss to your lips. You squeak a little at the pressure and smile when she pulls away. “You are such a derp, Joan.”

You steal the pillow from under her head and bean her with it.


	20. Chapter 20

The only person you can think of to talk with about this is Sis.

Your mom doesn’t need to know that you just lost your virginity. Neither does Jude. Ross… doesn’t need to know, either. For the longest time, you thought it would be him, and it was his sister, his sister who plunged and took and kissed and petted and guided you to a place you never thought you would reach. You really don’t know how to feel about any of it.

As much as Dove is diurnal, Sis is nocturnal. After what happened today, you can’t sleep. The room feels like it’s closing in around you anyway, and you can’t breathe through the heavy, humid Houston heat. And when you can’t breathe, you’ve already lost. (Lost your heart. Lost your virginity. You lost, Joan. You lost. You lost everything.)

Sis knows. She has to. She’s known for a long time that she’s… what she is. And she’s so confident, too. Confident and beautiful and strong and seductive. You want that. You want her.

Her door, strangely enough, is open. You walk right on in and sit on her bed as quietly as you can. Sometimes it’s just nice to sit in the same room where someone else is awake, even if you’re completely ignoring one another. It smells like her in here, especially when you take a pillow and hug it to your chest while you overlook what she’s doing. Music, most likely. Her headphones are on. “What’s up, chica?”

The sound disturbs you. You didn’t think she’d noticed you come in. When you startle, you nearly fall off of her bed. Keep it together, Egbert. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Story of my life.” She sighs, takes her headphones off, but still stays at her computer. “Somethin’ on your mind? Or are you just not tired?”

“Uhh…” For all that spilling you want to do, the words won’t quite come out of your mouth. “Both? I don’t know.”

“Music’ll do that to ya.” She shrugs, the movement effortless.

Oh. Oh, God. She heard. She heard everything. She knows. She knows you fucked her sister. “I, uh.” You rub at the back of your neck, trying to find words that don’t sound too gross. “She and I…”

“Bumped uglies?” When you don’t immediately say yes, Sis just keeps going, swiveling around in her chair to face you. “Did the horizontal tango? Scissored me timbers? Knocked boots?”

“Sis, stop, oh my god.” You’re mortified, and you bury your face in the pillow, shaking it back and forth. “We had sex,” you wail into it.

“That’s supposed to be a good thing, hon.” Oh. Oh, shit, she’s coming closer. Oh, shit, there’s the consoling hand on your thigh that’s a little too hot and a little too soft and you wish it would move up or down or somewhere or anywhere and you hate yourself for thinking that. “Did it blow? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No!” Then, once you take your face out of the pillow, “not like I have any frame of reference or anything.”

“Oh.” Sis isn’t stupid. “Oh, honey. First time?” You’re too embarrassed to say yes, but Sis can see your nod anyway, especially when she peels the pillow away from you. To your surprise, she puts her arms around your shoulders and draws you close and hugs you, really hugs you. She’s so muscular, and she could crush you in her grip for fucking her little sister, but you know she’s being gentle with you. It means a lot to you. She tucks you under her chin and strokes your back through your shirt, and when you breathe in, you can smell coconut and shea butter. “I’m not gonna make you a cake or anything,” she murmurs into your hair. “Sorry, sweetie.”

“My mom would.”

“Not gonna tell her, huh?” You shake your head – it’s dangerously close to Sis’s chest, wow, her boobs are, like, right there. “Why, ‘cause you don’t want her to know or ‘cause you don’t want her to know it was a girl or ‘cause you don’t want her to know who it was?”

“All of the above?” You hiccup a little in an attempt to laugh, but all of it gets muffled in Sis’s polo anyhow. “She’s not supposed to know. She’s my mom. And I don’t – I’m not gay. I don’t want her knowing I lost my – my virginity to a girl when I’m not gay. And if she knew it was Dove, she’d understand, but then I don’t think she’d let me see you guys again.”

“Not just Dove, huh? ‘You guys’?”

Oh, shit. She picked up on that. “Well…” Backpedal faster, Egbert. “I mean, I like spending time with both of you, and, uh… I kinda, I’ve kissed both of you, and sometimes I think…”

“You think what, little one?”

Her cheek is nuzzling up against yours as she holds you, and suddenly you feel like you’re suffocating. With two firm hands on her chest, you gently push her away. Not rejecting her, just… asking for space. “Sometimes, it just seems like… I don’t know. This is stupid. Why would you?” You try to breathe, but the space around you smells like Sis, and the scent sticks deep in your chest.

“Talk to me,” she says, her voice low and insistent. She strokes along the backs of your arms, leaving prickles of fire where she’s touched; the soft leather of her gloves feels good against your skin. “Why would we what?”

How do you say this without feeling completely stupid? You still have two more days before you get to go home, and you’d like to leave the Strider apartment with at least some of your dignity intact. “Why would you… kiss me? Why would you look at me like that?” You’re nowhere near as beautiful as these ladies are, nowhere near as experienced.

“Joan.” When she says it like that, you can almost feel her tongue curling around your name in her mouth, keeping it safe from everyone else. “Are you bothered by what happened this week?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little shaky. “Yeah, I’m bothered.”

Her mouth twists down a little bit. “What’s bothering you?”

“That I want… things.” This lust is out of control. You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. You can’t think. “Every time I get something, I think, this is it. This’ll be it, this’ll be enough, and I can step back, and it’ll stop. And it doesn’t stop. It only gets worse.”

“Honey.” Her hands move from your arms to your sides; it’s definitely more intimate when she’s stroking you like this, closer to your core. “What do you want?”

“I don’t even know,” you tell her, the words rushing out of your mouth. “I just want – I want.” Actually, it’s just that simple. “I don’t know what, but I want.”

Sis laughs a little, but not crudely, and not at you. No, it seems like the little peal, like bells chiming, is sympathizing with you, maybe even pitying you. “Let’s try that again: what do you want right now?”

“I want you,” you start off with. And then you finish that thought, “to tell me I’m not a freak.”

“You’re not a freak, Joan.” One hand has drifted around to the small of your back; the other is pushing a lock of your mussed hair out of your face. “But that’s not all, is it.”

“I want Dove,” you say haltingly. Once again, you have to qualify it, “to understand that this is really overwhelming, okay, everything I thought I knew about myself and about her and about you has been completely upended since I’ve been here.”

“She knows,” Sis reassures you. “She knows.” Her thumb comes out to caress your cheekbone, dangerously close to coming under the protection of your eyeglasses. She must be able to feel the tension still in your body, because she asks you, once again, quieter than before, “What do you want right now?”

“I want Dove,” you repeat. Then you realize you have nothing to add to the end of that statement. “I want her,” you say again.

But you’re still shaking, and you know why. So does Sis. But she wants you to say it, even as she curls her fingertips around your ear and traces her way down your neck. “What do you want – right now?”

“I want you.” One last shiver runs up your spine, and then the fire in you moves from just a blaze engulfing your core to a spreading heat lighting up all your nerves. “I want you.”

Sis closes the distance between you, not seeming to give a second thought to it. You wish you were as confident as her. Oh, but she tastes so good, sweet and almost sugary, and when she licks your lips with your tongue you willingly part them to allow her entrance.

The two of you feel it at the same time, that magnetic desire that means you want to be closer, closer. Her hands come down to grasp at your legs, and you follow her clawing grabs, climbing into her lap where she sits on her computer chair and straddling her while you kiss her. She kisses you. Whichever. It doesn’t matter. “Sis,” you manage to gasp in one of the gaps between your mouths, between heartbeats.

“Is this what you wanted?” She says it from somewhere near your throat, and then her mouth is on your neck, her hands sliding up your thighs to actually cup at your ass, and you rock your hips into her because it feels good and because you want to follow her lead.

“No,” you say, and you can feel her falter for a fraction of a second before you can feel your prankster grin splitting your face. “More.”

Sis makes a sound you’ve never heard out of someone before, burying her face in your shoulder as her fingers squeeze your ass. “You’d better mean that, little one.”

You don’t understand why she wants you. You don’t want to question it right now. “I mean it, I want –“ and she doesn’t even let you finish your sentence before she’s moving faster than you thought humanly possible, keeping you in her arms and slamming you down onto the mattress so hard you lose your breath and you can’t catch it again when she crawls over you, one of her denim-clad thighs coming up between your bare legs. You know where she’s going with that, and you move down, grind yourself against it, and you can almost hear the sound of Sis’s delighted grin at your actions.

You must seem so desperate right now – and truth be told, you kind of are. You’re desperate for this burn to dissipate, for Sis to soothe it out of you, for your curiosity to be sated and to never look back at this. But Sis is going to make it hard for you to forget, because she kisses your mouth hungrily, harder, harder, and her hands push up your shirt to expose the skin of your stomach. Immediately you’re self-conscious, comparing your body to the one hovering over you, but Sis seems to know how to make your mind shut off, if the way she’s licking at your ear and sucking at your earlobe is any indication.

Still, you can feel the chafe of leather against your skin. “Gloves,” you say to her, clutching onto her shoulders as her mouth descends on you.

“Right,” she says, her voice husky and rough. She peels one off with her teeth and it just makes you wet to see her mouth work like that. “I wanna see you,” she says as she undoes the catch of the other one, pulls it off finger by finger. “Lemme see you.”

Not like you’re going to deny her at this point, but it’s still embarrassingly exposing to have her push your shirt up into your armpits. You know what she wants you to do about that, but the thing gets stuck around your elbows when Sis starts to move south with her mouth. At first it’s her tongue swiping along your collarbone, but then it’s the hot, wet press of her lips as they trace the slope of your breast, the enveloping feel as she takes your nipple and swirls it with her tongue. “Wow,” you have the effort to say, your head falling back onto the bed.

“C’mon,” she says gently, peeling the shirt away from you. But she can see the way your body tenses up just that slightest bit, and so she smiles down at you a little. “Here, I’ll…”

Then she’s taking off her shades, and her eyes are looking at you like they could burn you alive, and you want them to. Oh, you want them to. Sis leaves searing open-mouthed kisses, sloppy affairs, down past your breasts, to your stomach, pressing her face to you and tonguing your navel. It should be ticklish, but it’s just turning you on.

And she keeps going, down, down, and you lift your hips to press your body against her mouth to encourage her where to go. While you’re thrusting up, Sis slips her thumbs under the sides of your panties, pulls down, and then you’re exposed. “Joan,” Sis says, and it comes out as a moan, a delicious deep sound of need. “I wanna fucking -- lemme lick you.”

“What? Why?” That’s so gross, and yet it’s all you want as you feel her mouth tracing along the inside of your thigh now. Your toes are already curling in.

“I wanna,” she says, like that answers the question. And she keeps smashing her face against your thigh and you just want her to move up, oh God, your all of you is trembling with anticipation. “I wanna tonguefuck you, wanna dive into your oyster ditch, wanna munch your carpet…”

“Jesus christ.” You almost can’t hear the words over your own pulse in your ears, can’t feel what she means under the feeling buzzing under your skin at the point where your bodies are in contact.

She looks up at you from between your legs, and you don’t know whether to focus on her eyes, bright and brilliant and gorgeous, or her mouth, lips slick and swollen and saying the filthiest things to you. “Lemme eat you out.”

“O-okay…” Your assent is shaky, just like your resolve, just like your body. You’re still a little apprehensive when she just gently licks a broad swathe just far enough away from your slit that you melt a little in trying to think where she could go next.

Two fingers come up to your folds, touch and smooth and separate, and you feel bared and embarrassed and you want to close your thighs and squeeze them together so hard they’ll never open again, and then Sis’s hot, wet tongue is slick-sliding against your own dampness and ending with a broad stroke over your clit.

You could swear you go through the roof at that. To keep from grabbing her, you grab at the sheets instead, twisting them so hard in your grasp you swear you could rip them. Sis is patient, and it’s nearly torturous but it feels good, so good, and the heat in your core is molten and spreading, but slowly, so slowly.

She swirls her tongue around your clit, cupping it in the clover she makes with her tongue before she goes back to long, wet licks against you. That’s before she takes one of your folds into her mouth, sucks hard, and a long, wondrous “ooh!” comes out of your mouth as she keeps kissing you between your legs to keep you on edge.

God, and sometimes she’ll look up at you, and you’ll catch her eyes, and she is just loving this, look at her, and you want her to tell you how long she’s wanted, how long she’s waited, but her mouth is busy and you wouldn’t dare take it away from its task. “You taste fucking fantastic, oh my god,” she murmurs against you, leaving sucking kisses along the sides of your slit.

You feel like you could jump out of your skin at her compliments, but you end up sinking right back into the mattress while she keeps working on you. She sucks at your lips again, then circles around your clit with those kisses, and you want to tell her to stop teasing, to just do it already, but she knows what she’s doing, she’s not going any faster than you want her to go.

When her mouth finally does close around your clit, her tongue flicks against it and you squeak a little. She has to hold you down with her hands on your hips, her thumbs smoothing along them over and over as she keeps her mouth between your legs. She sucks, and sucks, and then sucks a little harder, and you have to be making the most incriminating noises right now but you hope she can’t hear with your thighs muffling the sound.

And then her mouth moves. You make a little plaintive cry when the delicious pressure is taken away from your clit, but her mouth moves two inches down and then your cry is a little more pleasured. You’re still begging softly with every breath, “please” running across your lips like a perverted little mantra, and then you don’t have to ask any more, because she’s answering, giving you what you want. Her tongue licks at your entrance, licks and licks and licks, and then she presses her face into you and drives her tongue in and she’s inside you, her tongue is inside you, and it’s doing the most delicious things and you don’t understand how and you almost don’t want to know.

Her nose is right up against your clit – how can she breathe like that? You can’t breathe. When you can’t breathe, you lose. You lose all your strength to resist the coil threatening to unwind in your core. You lose all your resistance as you move your hips, just a little, just enough, against Sis’s mouth. You lose your fucking mind as she keeps fucking you on her tongue.

And then you feel empty as she pulls away, but it’s just to take a breath of her own. It’s the deep breath before the storm, so to speak, and you suck in air yourself before you sigh it back out with a need you didn’t think possible when she goes back to licking you. She’s more insistent this time, and she knows what she’s doing, because little “ah!”s are coming out of your mouth, escalating in tone and pitch and volume as she keeps going, and then her tongue is laving your clit with everything she has left, stroking again and again with that warm wet pressure.

That’s it. That’s all. You’re gone. You clench up, hard, and your legs start shaking entirely out of your control. Sis pets at you, hot hands soothing and sapping the heat lingering under your skin. Through it all, she never stops working on you, slowing but never stopping, making sure to keep everything wet and sloppy as you come and come and come.

Slowly, slowly, your toes uncurl. Your hands let go of the bedsheets. Sis lets her warm breath wash over your slit, easing you down from it as gently as she can. Instead of kissing between your legs, her mouth moves up, pressing against your hip, the lowest part of your stomach. You feel like you should say something, but you’re out of words right now. Instead, you reach up a shaky hand and run it through her hair. She doesn’t stop you, which is good.

Eventually, she moves all the way up your body, and she’s so warm and smells so good that you feel like you melt into her. She wraps an arm around you, and you forget that you’re naked when she’s protecting you like that. You forget who you’re supposed to be sleeping next to when her eyes rake over you and her mouth parts in a smile that showcases her barbed canines. Her chin, her cheeks, her nose, her entire face is slick with you. “Better?” she asks.

You nod, but you’re still unsure. It settled the fire for now, but you’re sure the spark is going to flare up again soon, and you still don’t know how to control that burning need. “What about you?”

She brings her one hand up, and you watch her fingers gleam before she sucks them into her mouth and her eyes flutter closed. And god damn it, but you moan at that, because it means – she was getting off to getting you off, she had her fingers inside herself while her tongue was inside you. “Let me kiss you,” she says, dropping her fingers.

“No!” But then her mouth is still all over your face, at your forehead, your eyebrow, your cheek. “That’s so gross, Sis, oh my God,” but at the same time, you giggle as she kisses the corner of your mouth. You can smell it. It’s not… bad. Just different.

She kisses you. Kisses you quite a lot, actually. But you’re sleepy, and she knows it. Eventually she lets you drop, kissing your forehead instead, the cowlick at the front of your head where your bangs sworl around. You should really get back to Dove’s room, but it feels safe here. Good. And you’re practically a puddle in the mattress anyway. You might as well stay with someone who’s strong enough to protect you.


	21. Chapter 21

“Hearts or spades?”

Hearing Dove ask you that resets your entire train of thought. Your first reaction is _I wasn’t just thinking about having sex with your sister!_ Then, you realize, she’s breaking in a brand-new pack of cards, shuffling them over and over in her hands until the edges are perfectly soft and the flat of the cards more pliable for holding. “Uh. Are you asking which suit I like better?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” You can tell Dove is rolling her eyes behind her shades. “No, asswipe, I’m talking about card games. Do you wanna play hearts or spades?”

“I didn’t know those were games.”

“You’re shitting me.” She’s doing this fancy thing with the deck where she passes it between her hands, which she’s holding a few feet apart. For as much as you’re the one who likes to do magic tricks, you’re sure she could teach you a thing or two about cards. “Did you, like. Never play cards as a kid?”

“Yup, pretty much.” You roll over onto your stomach, sweaty from lying against polyester carpet, so you can cool off under Dove’s ceiling fan. “Here. Just explain the rules and I’ll say which one I wanna play.”

“You ever tried to explain card rules to someone before?” Dove answers her own rhetorical question. “Fucking impossible. Rather just show you.”

“No, nope, not falling for that one again, nope, no way in hell.”

“What?” Oh, so now Dove’s gonna play all innocent now, is she? “I was going to show you a pair of hands—“

You pre-empt her lewd come-ons by flinging a pillow across the room at her face. “Just tell me, itty-tits, I’m bored and the N64 is fried.”

“Fine. Ah, how do I put this.” Shuffle. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. You can hear her moving the cards around, and if you’re very quiet and hold your breath, you could swear you hear the cogs in her mind going. “Hearts is like… it’s really a four person game, two against two, but I thought we could make it work with just us, y’know? Modify the rules a little bit.”

You have a feeling she’s not specifically talking about the objects she’s holding in her hands any more. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, so. The object of the game is to get as few points as possible. You actually don’t want to score. Hearts cards are worth a point each, but the one you really wanna watch out for is the queen of spades. She’s worth thirteen unlucky points.” She flings the card at you, and with your breath powers, you hold it in front of you so you can peer at it. The queen’s double inscrutable visage reminds you of two ladies you know. “That bitch will wreck your shit, I’m not even kidding.”

Okay, so in this analogy the queen of spades is probably Sis. You might be getting somewhere with this; even though you’re not perfectly fluent in Dove’s syllogisms, you do try, and you think you understand this one. “What if you accidentally… tip your hand?” you try, looking for the right words. “Throw out a heart?”

“That’s called breaking hearts.” Dove takes the queen back and folds her back into the deck. “But you can’t do it unless someone else has done it first, because you have to keep suit, and you can only really do it first when you have nothing but hearts left.”

“Breaking hearts,” you mull over. Not good. “What if you… want all the hearts, though?” Are you speaking in Dove’s language, or are you merely mixing metaphors?

Dove snickers, though. “Now you’re talkin’. It’s not enough to get all the hearts, though, you gotta get the queen of spades, too. That’s called shooting the moon. If you shoot the moon, you lower your score—which is good. But it’s impossible to pull that shit off. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“Don’t talk to me about fucking cake,” you mutter, shifting under the ceiling fan again.

“Oh, but I have to. Because see this baby?” She hands over the jack of diamonds. “This buckaroo is your best friend. He’s called the cake daddy. No matter what, if you get him, you lose points—which is good. Don’t wanna get frisky with that bad bitch and all the hearts you think she has to offer. Go with this guy. Go with what you know. Easy points.”

“Right. So, keep in suit, avoid the hearts and especially the queen of spades, who is kinda like a heart but kinda not? And also the jack of diamonds is good. I guess.” One more question, though. “What if you’re a trickster?”

“If you win all the tricks, that’s called shooting the sun instead of shooting the moon. And then there’s double the points to mess around with, either taking them off your own score or adding them to other people’s. But that one’s even more impossible. Don’t even think about it. That shot’s one in a million, and an amateur can’t take it.”

Right. So no prankster gambit—at least not in this game. “What about spades?”

“Ah, now this one you can play with any number of people you want. Two people is kinda boring, though,” she admits begrudgingly. “If you play three, you slip the jokers in, which act as two highest trump.”

“How do you tell them apart, though?”

“One is colored.” She flashes them at you. “Kinda like Candyland Joan and regular douchebag Joan.”

“Shut up, I’m not a fucking joker,” you grumble. “Or a trickster. I am a prankster. There is a huge difference.”

“Doesn’t make much difference to me when you’re putting Orajel on my toothbrush.” Still, Dove is smiling—and so are you, because that was a fucking awesome piece of brilliance on your part. “Anyway. Points are the opposite—you want to get as many points as possible, which you get by winning tricks. Except you have to actually call out how many you’re gonna win after you’re dealt, then you have to win that many.”

You sit up, crossing your legs so you can face her while she’s talking to you. “So I actually would have to say what I’m trying to get?” Your worst nightmare—you’re not articulate at the best of times.

“That’s the idea.” Dove keeps shuffling compulsively; the worst part is that, with her shades on, you can’t quite tell where she’s looking. “But you can’t go for more tricks than you bet, otherwise you get weighed down. Called sandbagging. You get points deducted for that.”

“So don’t overshoot it.” You have to reach out and stop her hands, otherwise you’re fairly certain her fingers are going to fall off. The deck slips out of her grasp and spreads on the floor. Looks like the two of you aren’t playing anything but 52-card pick-up for the moment.

But Dove doesn’t dive for the cards right away—she just threads her fingers with yours. It makes something warm spread across your face and something strange twist inside your stomach. “Spades are good. That’s how you get points. But you can also make some awesome bets. Like, with three people, you can go twelve-for-250. You bet and win twelve tricks, you more than double your points. And if you really wanna go for broke? Eighteen-for-500. If you’re in the red, it’s an auto-win. Real risky, though.”

“Sounds easier, though,” you muse out loud. “Don’t need to keep track of what cards not to get.”

“You’d think, but it’s not.” You can feel Dove’s nails start to bite into the backs of your hands. “Playing with three people can get real strange, real fast. Most games are played in pairs. Partnerships. You stick by your partner or you’re gonna lose.”

Okay, you are definitely not talking about cards any more. “But the only three-person game is spades!”

“And it’s got a wicked point to it. You overshoot, you might lose it all. Hearts—it’s safe, you avoid the queen of spades, you catch the cake daddy, and you’re sure to win eventually.” Dove’s voice has a dangerous edge to it, and you don’t know if you want to swallow her swords right now.

But you have to say something. It’s been catching in your throat since last night, lingering in your fingertips trembling against Dove’s hands. “We can’t play a paired game.”

“Why the hell not? We’ve been playing that way for ages, you and me.”

Okay, now this is firmly out of game-land and now talking in veiled allusions to your relationships. You hate talking like this, but sometimes it’s the only way to really get through to Dove. “And now there’s a game-changer in the picture.”

“No.” It comes out of Dove like a reflex, like you tapped her on the knee and she kicked you in the crotch. “No, no, no no no. What the fuck did I just say about staying away from the queen of spades?”

As much as her grip is cutting into your hands, you try to crush her knuckles between your fingers; your tenacious hold on your hammer has been enough to train you. “You’re not getting it. We’ve never played hearts. We’re playing spades. Spades are trump, we like spades—“

“But then all three of you are pitted against each other. No one to rely on. Scrambling for as much as you can get while hoping you block the others from getting anything on their end.” During your verbal spar, both of your words have become darker, softer, edged with malice, and the two of you encroach further into each other’s personal space. Dove is practically hissing the words against your lips now.

You have a trump over her, though, and you’re going to smoke out the queen of spades to force her to take the trick. “If we’re really playing hearts, who’s your partner, then? Because, to me, seems like you’re trying to shoot for the moon and hoping to land among the stars.”

“Don’t,” Dove says, soft and mean. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“You already took the queen of spades,” you explain. “Had to. Someone else forced your hand and that was the only card left to play. But then you decided to go for broke, too. Wanted to have all the hearts.” All the love. All your affection. “Not just that—wanted to have that cake daddy, too.” That card is you. Jack for heir. Diamonds for what the trolls think of as, like, super awesome best friends that keep each other from going postal. Cake daddy for the Betty Crocker thing. “Wanted to win it all. Took a huge risk. You gambled. Is it working out?”

“I never meant to.” You can’t tell if she’s being defensive or deferential. “I never meant to take that trick.”

“You can still win,” you tell her. “We just have to change the game. Change it to a game where taking that card doesn’t ruin your chances. Change it to spades.”

“But why? There’s no good reason. I made my choice. I took that risk. I should have to live with it.”

You suck in a breath. It’s not going to make this hurt any less. “I was the one who smoked out the queen.”

Dove’s mouth falls open, just that slightest bit, just enough to let you know that you’ve scared the living shit out of her. “No,” she whispers, too quickly. “Not you. It’s not supposed to be you, it’s supposed to be me, baiting out the queen and taking the heat for it—“

“No, Dove, you’re not listening,” and how are you supposed to get through to her when you’re not that great with words and she’s too good for you to keep up with her? “That’s why I want to change it to a three-person game—or at least, one where we don’t have to choose partners.”

“Jesus tittydicking Christ.” She drops your hands as if they’re hot irons that burn her at the touch, and she turns her face away from you as if breathing the same air as you will make her diseased. “Not you. You, of all fucking people—you, I told you, I told you how it was, it was a warning, Joan, are you that fucking dense or did you know and you did it anyway? No, don’t tell me, I don’t know which one is worse.”

She knows. You’ve effectively told her. And now she’s, predictably, disgusted with you, just like you’re disgusted with yourself. “Besides, if we were still playing hearts, I still don’t know who you’d pick as your partner.”

“You,” she says, too quickly. “It’s always been you.”

“Except for when it’s not.”

“Okay, fine, so I took the queen of spades. So what? I’m trying to make up for it.” She plants her hands on your knees; you can feel the tremor in her fingers, nearly see the shiver wracking her spine. “I’ve fucked up. I get it. But I can’t undo what I did.”

“You could,” you remind her, surprised at how cold your own voice is. She’s the one with the time powers—and if you kept yours after the game, she has to have some residual abilities.

“That’s the thing.” She lets out a weak ‘heh’ that sounds more like self-deprecation than a sense of humor. “I’m not sure I would.”

“Which is why you broke hearts.” Literally, squeezing yours in a vice and ripping it to shreds with tiny little bird-claw scratches with every new revelation, and figuratively, dropping trump in your little fucked-up card metaphor.

“I thought… I just—even if I did all that, if I went for broke—and if I took the cake daddy…” Her breathing is shallow, panicked, and she can’t form a sentence to save her live—Dove, who is normally so mellifluous under pressure.

You want her to be able to breathe; you set your hands on top of hers, and she seems to calm down a little. “Things got a little fucked up. But it’s okay. I fucked up too. I smoked out the queen.”

Through trying to take deep breaths, Dove can really choke out only one word. “When?”

“I…” That one leaves you stumped. “I don’t know, I’m not the time mistress over here.”

“Where were you last night?”

“You were awake?”

“I was cold.” I was lonely, you hear. You weren’t in her bed—of course she was acutely aware of being left on her own. Did she roll over with the noises from the next room, just like you did? Hug her pillow around her ears and try to pretend like it wasn’t happening even as her imagination went wild with the possibilities?

“I’m sorry.” You caress your thumbs over the back of Dove’s hands. “I just wanted to talk to her.”

“That’s not what happened, though.” You shake your head. “What did she do to you?”

“You mean last night, or a few nights ago, or at the beginning of this visit, or what?” You let out a dead chuckle that has nothing to do with mirth. “I don’t know, Dove. But I’m… I don’t know how to word it.”

“Stuck.”

That’s a word. “Yeah, let’s use that.” Better than jealous.

“Pinned down. Trapped. And the worst part is, you like it. You’re trying to run the bases when all of a sudden you get pickled, and you can’t pick one without it becoming dangerous.”

“Whoa.” This laugh is more genuine. “I thought we were talking about cards.”

Dove even cracks a smile at that one. “My bad, didn’t realize you couldn’t keep up with my slick verbiage.”

“Shut up and explain yourself.”

“Nah, I think it’s you who owe me that goddamn explanation.”

“Oh.” For sneaking out of her bed to fuck her sister. “She just—and you, you both, the two of you, you look at me like—and you’re both so, I don’t know what you see but you both seem to see it,” you’re rambling but you can’t seem to stop, “and I just want to know because I don’t understand and it’s like fucking magnets, I couldn’t stop it if I tried, and neither can you, and neither can she, and I just—why do we have to keep… doing this to ourselves?”

“Because it hurts.” And with the way Dove wheezes it out, you can almost believe that this conversation, the subject matter and the contemplation of it, is causing her physical pain. “It’s fucked up. My sister.” She takes a hand away, picks up the queen of spades, turns it face up. “My best friend.” This time, it’s the jack of diamonds. “And me.” She turns up the two of clubs—you don’t even have any card-playing experience and you know it’s one of the most worthless—and triangulates it between the two. “She’s trying to protect me. From you. You’re trying to protect me. From her. But she’s my sister, and I—I don’t really hate her, not at the end of the day. And you’re my best friend, and she can’t do anything that’ll make me stop caring about you.”

“Not even what I did?”

“Honestly?” A wry smile quirks up the corner of her mouth. “I’m jealous. Not sure which of you I’d rather be in a situation like that.”

When she talks like that, it makes a flush light up from the tips of your ears to the tops of your shoulders. “What I’m trying to say—and I’m really not getting my fucking point across—is…” You reach over and scatter her cards, throw them back into the rest of the deck. “No more sacrifices or whatever. It’s all out there.”

“Our thing, or whatever this is…” Dove seems just as much at a loss for words about the status of your relationship as you are. “It’s not like it is with her. She’s dangerous. She scares the shit out of me.”

“I can keep her in check,” you tell her. Maybe it’s false confidence, but you have to believe. “I have a gigantic fucking hammer and I can easily wreck her shit. Or my mom can, anyway.”

“Hey, don’t bring your mom into this, I really don’t wanna think about that.”

“Why? Too Freudian for you?”

“I’m not fucking Ross, okay?”

“Not right now, you’re not.”

She socks you in the shoulder. You try to titty-swipe her right back, but you miss and slap her stomach. She’s laughing far too hard to be healthy, but all this pent-up emotional shit is out of sight, out of mind, as you’re focused on trying to pinch and slap at each other, pull one another’s hair, in stupid little catfights like you always do over really stupid shit.

This has turned into one of the little things. This time, you’re not so ashamed, not so shy, when roughhousing turns to kissing, rubbing, gasping. You’re on an even playing field. Everything is out there, open, transparent—you’re not trying to hide any more. You’re not trying to pretend like this isn’t happening. You’re not wanting to sink into the earth every time this happens. In fact, you just might—maybe—possibly—be enjoying this. It makes each spark more intense, each touch more meaningful.

It’s not like you keep yourselves clothed at the best of times, but Dove strips first. You want to touch everything, and you’re not sure what first, but she guides your hand to where she wants it, folds your fingers in, breaches herself with you. Her shades are lopsided on her face and she keeps biting her lip, but every so often, when you crook your finger just right, she makes a small, wondrous noise that’s trapped in her throat. You kiss it out of her and it turns into delightful girlish coos.

“More,” she says softly, and of course you’ll give her whatever she wants. She deserves so much. You can’t fix everything, but you can make things better from here on out—or you’d like to think so, at least. All you’re thinking about now is whether you’ll be able to give her all the amazing things she deserves, that are hers by right.

With the way she reacts as you add a second finger to the first, you’re on the right track. Her slit is sopping wet, her channel clamping around you, but even as you massage your fingers inside her, she cries out and closes down impossibly tighter and scratches her way down your arms. “Good?”

“So good, more is better, more,” she pants out. You reach up to take off her shades, and her eyes are half-closed and unfocused.

She’s beautiful like this. “Better?”

The only sound out of her now is plaintive little cries and mewls. When you move your fingers, she moves her hips, rocking down onto you, goddamn is she mesmerizing. If you felt more confident, you would do more. For now, you can pleasure her like this—and it’s easier to watch her reactions, watch her nipples harden, watch her lips redden as she bites them, watch as her sex-sweat dampens her hair and plasters it to her forehead and neck.

“I can feel that,” you tell her when she squeezes around you again. “Must feel good when I do this,” and you rub up inside her again, against that one spot driving her crazy, and she keens, high and long. And loud. You have to clamp your hand over her mouth. “Shh.” You don’t want Sis to hear. Plus, “I want to keep this all to myself.”

Dove nods against your hand dumbly, clearly too overcome by physical sensation to fully process mentally, instead only doing as you bid her. She does mumble against your hand, though. When you take it away, she frantically whispers, “thumb on my, ohmygodJoan, my clit, I need…”

You could listen to her disjointed speech all day. It makes you feel powerful, to drive the most powerful person you know to helpless need below you. You slide the pad of your thumb along her slit, spread her slickness, use that to glide along her clit over and over and over as you finger her, driving up and home as hard as you can. “Like that? Come on, Dove…”

It sets in a split-second before you remember to get your hand back over her mouth; she practically screams for half a second before you can silence her. Even then, you can feel her frantic breaths huff over the back of your hand, feel her teeth digging into your fingers in an effort to tell you how good this feels. Her snatch is seizing around you, clit pulsing, and she seems to get extra-wet, easing your way out once her body calms down.

You don’t really know what to do with your hands right now; you settle for threading one through her hair as you smooth the other, the sticky one, along the inside of her already-sticky thigh. “Was that okay?” Did you do it right? Is it okay that she does this with her sister, that you do this with Sis?

“Perfect,” she murmurs happily, turning her face to put her cheekbone in your palm. And you’ll take that as an answer, along with her sated smile, even if it isn’t total assurance to assuage all of your fears.


	22. Chapter 22

“I wanna get a transportalizer.”

Joan’s showering, which is your only rationale for peeling away from her for long enough to confront your sister over this battleground. Sis, though? Fuck-meter’s constantly set to zero. In fact, given that she’s not even acknowledged your existence, you are in negative fuckland right now. Instead of her giving any, she’s demanding them from you. (Fuck. Not fucks. Not demanding fucks from you, not like that--)

You shut the door behind yourself. That, at least, gets half of Sis’s headphones to drop away from her ear, though she’s still clinging to her work. “She wants to see us again.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘us’ now.” The sarcasm lingers under her tone like a coiled serpent waiting to strike. “Finally getting it, huh?”

“No. No, shut up,” you start talking over her. You didn’t come in here to get snarked at, you came in here to talk. (And not to fuck, either. For once, you don’t want this to end with her hand in your pants.)

“That it’s not just you? That once she had a taste, she wouldn’t be able to let it go? Because let’s face it, chica—“

“Sis, god damn it, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m more experienced than you. Got a whole lifetime on you, really.” Sis’s other headphone drops from her ear; the lewd beats still pumping out of them sound tinny to your ears. “I’m you, if you were better.”

“Shut up, I’m fucking serious!”

“So you want to be the one visiting her. I get it.” She smirks at you, glare flitting across her shades and mocking you. “Take me outta the picture. Hon, she visited us, the two of us, for a reason.”

“Sis, fucking christ, shut up or so help me—“

“You’ll what?” Her smirk turns into a mocking leer, simpering up at you. She knows what to expect out of you. You, Dove Strider, are a little chickenshit when it comes to standing up to your big sibling, and she expects you to weasel out of this conversation once she keeps talking and talking and talking over you. Or let your words get to her, hit her first and she’ll hit you back. But always, always, it ends with words whispered in your ear and you telling her to shut up and not doing anything about the things she’s doing to you.

This time, it’s different.

You kick off from the door, launching yourself toward Sis. You can just barely catch her eyebrows darting up to her hairline before you land in her lap, straddling it so you can put all your weight behind your arms. If you want to keep your palms planted over her lips, it’s gonna take a lot of force, you both know that. Still, you can feel the softness of her mouth against your hand, and if she even tries to speak, you’re fucking done for.

“I was serious,” you tell her quickly. You’ll only have her off her guard for a few moments before she calculates a counter-attack. Given that she’s probably so busy trying to get her come-uppance on you that she’s not even listening, you lean over, grit it into her ear, so maybe a few words of it can worm into her thick skull and nest in her brain. “She wants us. I fucking—I told her, Sis, okay, I told her everything and honest to god she flipped absolutely no shits. Maybe, like, one. Minimal shits were flipped by her. But she—she thinks you’re hot and she can’t help it and I can see how she looks at you, y’know, how her tongue gets out for that little millisecond before she catches herself—she wants you bad,” are you talking about Joan or yourself?

You can hear a growl starting up in Sis’s throat as she gets impatient with your little stunt, warning you to back off. It only makes you lower your voice and threaten her a little sweeter. “But you know who she kissed first? Me. Who made her cum first? Me. Took her virginity? Me. Me me me me me.” You could say that all day, crowing it from the rooftops. “If you wanna spin this like a game, whoever licks it keeps it—I win. She’s my absolute best fucking friend and I know she can be a fucking moron sometimes but she cares.”

Oh, she’s really getting pissed now, you can feel it in the tension in her spine. “But she still wants you. And she didn’t freak the fuck out about us. And she is willing to kick your ass if you give me another shiner like this.” It’s the only thing Sis really respects: superior physical strength. Speaking of, she’s ready to burst out from under you, flip you off of her and onto your back on her mattress so she can loom over you and cage you in. “I swear I’m gonna let you talk, I just gotta ask ‘cause I need to know. I gotta know how you feel about her. Because if you’re yanking her around like you yank me—listen, I’m not putting up with that shit and she’s not either. She’s got a hammer but I got a sword, and I got no problems with fucking your chest open with it. So I gotta know if you’re serious. Because if you’re not?”

You actually don’t know the threat that comes after that sentence. The whole speech—you’d practiced it, but it didn’t go over half as well as you intended, and the train of thought you’re on now is fucking terrifying. If she’s not serious about Joan, that shatters the minimal alliance you thought you’d made, and you’d have to start making choices. Serious choices. Choices like ‘I can’t talk to you ever again or my sister will kill me.’ Choices like ‘I have to move out because I don’t have to live in constant fear of you.’

Your arms go slack, and that’s just enough weakness so that Sis can reach up, circle your wrists with thumbs and forefingers, and pin them behind you. Oh, you fucking hate this position, she knows that, what a bitch. She wrangles both of your arms into the same hand, yanks down so hard your shoulders pop and you screech in protest. “You really wanna hear what I have to say?” You nod down frantically at her. “Then you sure as hell better listen.”

Sis shoves two fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet, fingertips depressing your tongue, but all it does is send a throb through your slit. You can feel the leather edge of her glove just on the tip of your tongue. The only times she’s done this before, it’s been followed with ‘Suck.’ and then her fingerfucking you to within an inch of your life. This time, though? Besides you humping up against her like this, it’s not… overbearing. Physical, but a power play, not sexual tension. Maybe she’s finally learning to separate them.

You don’t get too eager about it, though, because she splits her fingers over your tongue and encourages you wordlessly to lick between. Beneath you, she crosses her legs, and like this, her tense thigh can easily nudge right against the seam of your shorts. Fuck her. Fuck her so much. “You never shut up about her. You know that, right? Since day one when you started talking to each other, it was always Egbert this and Egbert that. Fuck, I thought you made up a new imaginary friend til I found the pesterlogs. And then everything—I died for you, you ungrateful little shit, and all you did with it was try to fix time to keep her from kicking it. You were fucking obsessed with her.”

Her fingers draw back, not at the choking level now; you swirl the tip of your tongue around the whorls in her fingerprints. “Even after—yeah, you won, but you, little bird, you were lost. That game beat you. She whipped you. You sat over here with your tail between your legs feeling sorry for yourself, and I just wanted to beat the shit out of anyone who would clip your wings like that.”

The way she has her hand in your mouth, you can’t help it if you drool a little; she smirks when she sees it roll past your lips and down your chin, wiping at the trail of it with the pad of your thumb as she starts to thrust her fingers in your mouth. Just a little, but enough. “I wanted to meet her. Meet the great Joan Egbert, the one who turned my sister gay and brought her to her knees. I brought you up better than that, and then that little bitch comes along, and I don’t know what the fuck she did to you but you changed. You fuckin’ changed, babygirl. Strongest person I knew to some little bottom bitch.”

You are not Joan’s bitch. You’re about to tell her as much, before Sis’s fingers drag along your tongue just right, thigh nudges under you just so, and you moan. The grip on your wrist is so rough as to be punishing. “Finally, fuckin’ finally, she comes to visit, and so I’m thinkin’, good, I’ll have a chance to get to know this girl before I beat her ass in for ruining my virtuous sister… goddamn. First of all, you could bounce quarters off it.” Yes. Yes, you could. As much as you and your sister have the hereditary Strider plush rump, Joan’s got the perfect bubble butt. “Then she just offers it to me on a silver platter, literally bends over and asks me to spank her, and what am I gonna do, say no? Sure, shoulda bought her dinner and drinks first, but I’m not gonna pass on an opportunity like that. Try’na watch a movie with her, too, hang out with her, get to know her.”

She’s still not done talking, because she still has her fingers in your mouth. When you threaten to really bite down with the full force of your jaw, she purposefully grinds up into you, tells you wordlessly what you can and can’t do. “Then you have the nerve—the nerve, little bird—to keep her from me. You’re so delusional it’s almost cute. You’d think being with me woulda taught you that the best things are the ones you can’t have.” Oh, and this time she deliberately rubs her thigh against you, drags your wrists down, and makes it clear what you should be doing.

It’s shameful, and so you try not to show it when you start inching your hips back and forth, rolling against her leg and humping her like a little bitch. “And then she comes to me cryin’. I kissed Dove, bluh bluh. I’m not a homosexual, bluh bluh.” Joan still keeps up the ‘I’m not a homosexual’ act? The thought falls out of your head when the right kind of pressure rolls right up against your clit, making you gasp and cry out against Sis’s fingers still holding your tongue down. “You’re try’na shelter her, she wants at me, I wanna be there, fuckin’ be there for her, show her it’s okay. I mighta even though she was kinda not a huge bitch for ruining your life, and now it’s all fuckjumbled into christ knows what.”

Finally, finally, she takes her hand away from your lips; her fingertips are still connected to your mouth with a string of spittle, hanging obscene between the two of you. You feel like you can breathe again, taking a swift gasp of air to fill you with strength and courage, but it gets cut off soon enough, with Sis driving her thigh up between your legs and forcing you down onto her with her hand still around your wrists. “Doesn’t have to be fuckjumbled,” you pant out, still drooling a little, eyes crossing behind your shades. “If you like her.”

“Oh. My mistake.” Sis’s laugh is somewhere between sympathetic and sarcastic. “You were trying to see if I had a little schoolgirl crush on your little bestie. I don’t.” She surprises you by leaning towards you, whispering harshly in her ear. “This ain’t schoolgirl, chica. There’s things I wanna do to her that aren’t even legal. I wanna fuckin’ obliterate her. I am going to destroy that cunt.”

At the rate she’s going, though, the one she’s torturing is yours. You can feel your clit twitch and your slit throb at every miniscule movement, the tiniest trickle of girlgoo running down the inside of your thigh once it escapes your panties and your shorts. “Don’t,” you start with, not knowing where you’re going with it. “Don’t… be mean.”

“Me? Never.” But when she pulls back to watch you fall apart like this, her grin is predatory and savage. “She’s a little innocent, I get it, you shoulda seen her mincing around when she first got here. Totally didn’t know what she was getting into. Fuckin’ adorable. But I’m gonna corrupt her.” One last, powerful grind into you with her thigh, then she tongues along your neck and starts sucking gently right below your ear. “And you’re gonna help.”

It’s small and short, but you can feel it unwinding in you, flooding you with at least a tiny sense of relief. Your mind goes blank for a blissful four seconds before you realize your mouth is dry and you’ve drooled all down your chin and you still can’t catch your breath no matter how you move. Though Sis let go of your wrists, you’re unwilling to move from your submissive position. “Are you seriously,” you start with, raising your eyebrows over your shades.

“Yeah, that’s where I’m goin’ with it.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Your sister wants to double-team Joan.

And you’re gonna help.


End file.
